


I Will Protect You: A Fifth Element AU

by EloquentSavage



Category: Fifth Element (1997), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Fifth Element Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Fun, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Derek, Sassy, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 40,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EloquentSavage/pseuds/EloquentSavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> </p><p>  <a href="http://xkxdx.tumblr.com/post/138004441590/i-will-protect-you-a-fifth-elementsterek-au">Link to the tumblr post here</a><br/><a href="http://xkxdx.tumblr.com/tagged/bandaran">Link to all the art inspired by this fic</a><br/><a href="http://www.twitter.com/stilesspillow">And you're welcome to join me on my NSFW art twitter!</a><br/><br/> </p><p>*****</p><p>The Fifth Element AU everyone and no one asked for. </p><p>Derek as The Fifth Element<br/>Stiles as Korben Dallas<br/>Lydia as Father Vito Cornelius<br/>Jordan as David the Acolyte<br/>Braeden as Ruby Rhod<br/>John Stilinski as General Munro<br/>Vernon Boyd as The President<br/>Erica Reyes as The Stepmother<br/>Allison as The Diva Plavalaguna<br/>Liam as the General's meathead sidekick<br/>Mason as The Anxious Yeoman<br/>And Cora as a scientist</p><p>Kate Argent as Zorg<br/>Jackson as The Right Hand</p><p>Gender roles? What are those? Lydia is still called Father. It's an honorary title, don't get confused. Braeden as Ruby Rhod is OOC, but magical. The General is Stiles' father. Vernon Boyd as the President gives me life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Good Hands

Soft sounds surrounded him, familiar bronze eyes blinked slowly, waiting patiently. They wanted him to speak, to prove he knew how. 

“Am I...” his rough, foreign voice said quietly. It didn’t feel like part of him. It was too deep, weak and far away. He cleared his throat and sat up. Gentle hands curled around his shoulders, hulking, brown forms gathered around him as he was lifted, his legs dangling off the edge of a hard table. “Is it time again?” he asked. 

Memories crept into his mind slowly, unobtrusively, putting names to the things surrounding him. He had been here before, so many times, and each time was different, but always the same. Now he was with the Mondoshawans. They were good, kind people who understood what it meant to care for his corporeal form. 

“It is time,” the deep, vibrating voice of the Mondoshawan in front of him said. “It has come.”

“Where is it?” he asked. 

“Near Earth, like you predicted,” a Mondoshawan in front of a large screen said with the same deep voice. 

“When do we go?” he asked. 

“Soon,” the Mondoshawan said. “Sleep.” 

Still tired, he reached for a soft, brown hand and lowered himself back down on the table. They could be trusted, they weren’t anxious or confused. They knew exactly what they were doing. They didn't need his help. The lights dimmed around him and the Mondoshawans began shuffling away. He ran his hand down his face, unsure why his voice was kind and soft when his body was so hard and large. He didn’t ask though, he trusted the Mondoshawans to give him what he needed to complete his task. 

As hulking and strange as they chose to be, they had always been the keepers of his words, and the technology needed to bring him back. He taught them long ago, but they perfected the art of genetics. When he woke up he wanted to be the same man they created. He didn’t want his past lives, and all the horror they had seen, tainting what they had so carefully constructed. 

“Wait,” he said, afraid of going to sleep without knowing who he was. “What is my name?” he asked. 

A Mondoshawan near him shuffled close and loomed over him, looking in his eyes with it’s oddly long, thin neck and bug-like face. “We call you Dereminaï Lekatariba Lamina-Tchaï Ekbat De Sebat.” 

“Those are all my names, except the first,” he said. 

“Yes, all your names, and the one we gave you,” the Mondoshawan explained. 

“What does it mean, Dereminaï?” 

“The Forgiving,” the Mondoshawan said. 

“Thank you.” He reached up and touched the smooth, hairless face of the Mondoshawan, then took it’s outstretched hand in his. It stood over him, it's other hand on his shoulder, comforting him until he fell asleep again.


	2. I Drive A Cab Now, Not A Space Fighter

Fire, hate, the promise of a slow, excruciating death screamed at him from across the universe. The flaming, ugly face of death chased after him, a ball of chaos and darkness fueling it’s frantic advance toward everything he loved. Stiles gasped, reaching out for his gun when his dry, gritty eyes burst open in the soft, orange light. The adrenaline from the nightmare hung on as he searched the shelf for his gun, but it dawned on him: he moved it years ago because he kept grabbing for it when he woke up. It was across the room in storage. 

Laughing softly at how incredibly fucked up he still was, at least Stiles was smart enough to outsmart himself, unlike some of the other guys he had served with over the years. The buzzing alarm went off and he groaned, running a hand over his face, remembering exactly what his life was like now. At least his fish were happy, and his cat, Sweetie. She was the most gorgeous creature, and she loved him enough to be happy living in his shitty apartment. That had to count for something. Not everyone could keep a cat happy. 

“Four a day!” the robotic voice called to him as his cat meowed at the door to be let in. The Universal Goals unit he paid way too much for dispensed the measly four cigarettes and finished with “To quit is my goal!” because everyone had to quit now that they passed the smoke free air legislation. Like cigarettes were really a part of the problem. 

Then the phone started ringing. It was going to be one of those days. “Yeah! I’m up!” Stiles yelled at his cat, the phone, whoever was listening. He picked up the phone “Yes?” he said into the phone as he hit the cat door lock to let Sweetie in. 

“Hey, dogbrain, it’s Fingers.” 

“Hey Sweetie,” he said to his cat, not really caring if it was Fingers.

“I love you too major,” Fingers laughed. “But you haven’t called me that since basic training when you decided Scott was a dumb name.”

“I was talking to the cat.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot, you still prefer your cat to the real thing.”

“Eh, at least the cat comes back.” 

“You still pining over Isaac? Forget about him, there’s a million people out there waiting for you.” 

“I don't want a million,” he said as he searched his shelf for some matches. “I want one. The perfect one.”

“Don't exist Major,” Fingers argued. 

“Yeah, they do,” he said as he lifted a photo up looking for matches still. “Ugh, I just found picture of you.”

“Oh? How do I look?” Fingers laughed. 

“Like shit.” 

“Must be an old picture. Listen, you gotta bring me in your cab for a six month overhaul ASAP. I know you saw it on the schedule.” 

“Negative, I don't need one.” 

“You forgetting who sat next to you for a thousand missions? I know how you drive.” Fingers barked at him impatiently. Stiles ignored him and put the coffee pot up to brew, momentarily distracted from his mission to find matches somewhere in his messy apartment. 

“Fingers, I drive a cab now, not a space fighter.” 

“How many points you got on your license?” Fingers asked. 

“...at least fifty,” Stiles lied as he spotted a box of matches. There were three inside. Not enough, he’d have to stop by the bar tonight and steal a few more boxes. Maybe drink himself through the next six months of boredom. 

“Heh,” Fingers laughed sarcastically. “You gotta learn how to lie better. See you tonight.”

“See ya,” Stiles said, no longer caring about the conversation, or his coffee, as he lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. 

Not ten seconds after he hung up, his last ditch effort to get himself out of bed on bad days reared it’s ugly head. The obnoxious television timer, set to the most annoying stations available in the upper levels, snapped as it came to life and started blaring a commercial for Fhloston Paradise. The familiar voice of Ruby Rhod shouted at him about winning some super green contest to a vacation planet. It was just annoying enough to get him to rush over and turn it off, which was the point. 

After grabbing his multipass, pulling on his boots and shirt—almost forgetting to feed the fish—he made the bed comfortable for Sweetie and put out her food. Slowing down for a moment, Stiles found a less annoying station for Sweetie to watch. He started leaving it on during the day to make it seem like someone was home in his apartment, but Sweetie really seemed to like watching tv. Her eyes darted across the screen as the bright lights flashed even though she was already lazily stretching out on his bed. 

“Don't watch it all day Sweetie, it’ll rot your brain,” he said as he walked out the door.


	3. Six Months

“Please enter your license,” the cab said as it powered up. 

It went through its set up like normal, but he didn't have much patience today. He liked driving cab, but he was fucked. He was down to five points on his license and no one else would hire him with those kinds of numbers. Fingers knew that, it was why he was insistent on bringing the cab in for an unnecessary overhaul. Six months was exactly how long it took a license to reset. When he went in, Fingers would probably offer him a security job because Scott was the best friend he’d ever had, and he would take it because he didn't have any other choice. If he was out of work they wouldn't let him collect his semi-retirement; they’d send him to work at the Pentagon just because he had the security clearance, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. 

“You have five points left on your license!” the cab said in its cheery, automated voice. 

Stiles’ stomach sank as he half-assed scanned the airway to make sure he could pull out into traffic. “Thanks for reminding me,” he muttered as he pulled out of the garage, nearly taking out a big, red Lexus floating too close to the building.


	4. Then Light Turns To Dark, Life To Death, Forever

“We're running out of time Mr. President, We have forty-eight hours, the time it needs to adapt itself to our living conditions.” Lydia explained to President Boyd. Jordan shifted impatiently behind her, unsure what to do with himself, like usual. 

“And then?” President Boyd asked in his quiet, stoic voice. 

“Then it will be too late,” Lydia continued as she opened the book she had sworn on her life to protect. All the drawings, the words and instructions written down over three hundred years ago, finally in the hands of people powerful enough to help her fulfill her life mission. Now all she had to do was make him understand. “The goal of this thing is not to fight over money or power, but to exterminate life, all forms of it,” she explained.

“So, what you’re telling me Father, is there’s nothing that can stop this,” President Boyd stated. 

“There is only one thing,” Lydia corrected, pleased he so casually used the formal term for her position without question. He was an open minded, accepting man. It gave her hope. She opened the book and told the story of the fifth element. A story she knew by heart, better than anyone else in the world. President Boyd sat silent, his eyes fixed to the pages as she unraveled their dire circumstance. “The Mondoshawans have in their possession the only weapon that can defeat this evil. Four elements, gathered around a fifth. The supreme being, the ultimate warrior. Created to protect life.” 

President Boyd shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He was not a religious man, and her speech was taking on too much prophecy for his tastes, but it was true, she had never doubted it. “Together they produce what the ancients called The Light of Creation, able to bring life to the furthest reaches of the universe. But, if evil stands there...” Lydia waited, making sure she still had the President's trust. 

“Then what?” President Boyd asked quietly.

“Then light turns to dark, life to death, forever,” Lydia concluded, maybe a bit dramatically. 

“Sir,” General Stilinski interrupted. “There is a Mondoshawan spaceship at the frontier requesting permission to enter our territory.” 

“Give them permission,” President Boyd said without hesitation. Lydia sighed with relief. Jordan reached out and touched her back, silently sharing her happiness. “Tell them the entire territory sends our warmest regards.” 

“Thank you,” Lydia said to the President. 

He waved a hand and the intercom snapped to life. Odd, laser-like noises emanated from the overhead speakers when the President attempted to speak to the Mondoshawans himself. The General rushed forward to speak, but an explosion rang out. They all stood in stony silence. Her heart pounding in her chest was the only thing she could hear besides the faint whisper of the communications commander speaking into his headset. 

“I’m sorry, sir, their ship has been destroyed,” the General said, horrified. 

“We are lost.” Lydia fell back in shock, sitting only because Jordan caught her and helped her to her chair. “We are lost,” she repeated, unsure who was listening anymore.


	5. Freedom

Bright lights, and cold, rancid air paralyzed his lungs. Ugly, self-satisfied voices surrounded him. Flashing lights, the attack, the explosions and fire all came flooding back to him. Fighting the sensation of suffocating, he struggled to draw in a breath, expecting a lungful of smoke, but there was nothing. He reached out to feel where he was. He couldn’t make anything out clearly, his vision was grey and foggy. His hands hit something hard and the world began to come into focus. His body didn't feel right, like he had been torn apart and stitched back together crudely. Nothing worked like he remembered, but he couldn’t let that stop him, he had to survive. Life was depending on him, all life, everywhere. 

Suddenly his throat constricted and his body cramped convulsively. Everything hurt too much. The bright, harsh light made the world look like it was on fire, but it wasn't, not like in the crash. The cramps stopped and he fell on his side, his hand stopping on something hard in front of him even though it looked like he was in a big room. He was trapped, he needed out. He was alive and he had to escape. Fear and adrenaline coursed through him as he tested his surroundings. Nothing gave, he tried to stand and hit his head. Everything in this place was hard and unforgiving. Maybe he was dead. 

Stopping for a moment, his back against the cold, invisible wall of his prison, he looked around, searching for an way out. Something moved overhead and he realized he couldn’t tell how far away it was. This body, his body, was clumsy and primitive, nothing like the perfection and refinement he was accustomed to with the Mondoshawans. Waving his arms to understand the limitations of the space around him, he tested his cage systematically. Finally understanding he was in some sort of clear tube, he turned his attention to the world outside his tiny prison. 

There were people outside, but he couldn’t tell what kind. He pleaded with them to let him out, to show him to the temple. He tried to explain what happened, but no one came, no one moved to help him, they all just stood there and stared dumbly. Everything suddenly fell into place, he was with the humans. They had found him and recreated him too much in their own image. Primitive vision, hearing, and too much fear, anxiety and adrenaline. They were an inelegant, but well-meaning people. He stopped talking. There was no point. They wouldn’t understand him. 

Trying to repair some of the damage they did, he sat back and focused on his body. It was possible he could align and reactivate the genetic code he was sure was hidden away in his cells. After a few moments a calm sense of wellbeing made him gasp in relief. The Mondoshawan genetic coding was taking over and repairing the human design these people had forced on him. He was becoming stronger, sharper, he could finally see the amused faces outside the glass. They thought he was a novelty, funny, entertaining. They were so stupid, they had no idea who he was or why he was there. 

Glass, the word was glass. He was behind glass, and glass was breakable. He asked to be let out again, gave them a warning. The biggest human came up to the glass and waved a square piece of technology in his face. The human said crass, unkind words even though he was smiling. He understood the big one thought he was clever, and meant to taunt him, keep him inside until he did as they asked. He wasn’t there to placate their desire for control. They had no idea how important his mission was. They were all clueless. He had to get out.

Extracting himself wasn't difficult. Loud alarms went off and vicious, terrified people filled the room, threatening him loudly. They meant to harm him, and if he defended himself, he could kill all of these misguided humans. Echoes reverberated of the wall behind him, it was hollow, empty. Footsteps above echoed down a corridor on the other side. It might lead nowhere, but he could find some kind of escape if he wasn’t so exposed. He moved, testing the human reaction collectively. They rushed toward him, confirming his belief they meant to harm him. He turned and ran, breaking through the strange wall, making his way quickly through the low, round corridors. 

Chasing the airflow to the outside of the building was simple enough. The terrible smell of bitter chemicals and smoke was easy to follow. He broke the last barrier to the outside and stepped out into the world, unsure what to expect. Huge buildings stretched overhead, thousands of vehicles moved through the air around him. Evidence of millions of people surrounded him. Earth had changed too much, too fast. This was not the primitive culture he had left behind thousands of years ago. It was ruin and excess, confusion and chaos. There were too many people and no direction, no one to help him understand it. 

The only people interested in his existence were the loud, angry men around him shouting for his attention, but all they wanted was to control him and hurt him. He was miles above the surface of the planet with no friends, no hope of escape. The men shouted at him to comply again, but he couldn’t, he wouldn't give up so easily. Someone, anyone who didn’t know who he was could point him in the direction of the priest or the temple hopefully. People stood on the edges of buildings across the way. They were watching, gawking, they would be no help. So, he moved away from the danger, took in his surroundings calmly and assessed his options for escape. 

The building shook under his feet as a huge, loud vehicle attached to rails went down the side. It was terrifying and amazing at the same time. Flashing lights and amplified voices came from a vehicle hovering nearby. It was more armed men. They wanted him to surrender. He held his hands up, unsure how to get away from a flying vehicle. There were so many flying vehicles though, most were below him. He considered jumping. He wasn’t sure how close one would have to be for him to survive. Then he spotted a bright yellow one not too far below, moving slower than the rest. He took a deep breath and told himself he could make it. Fate was on his side. It was always on his side. 

With no more time for deliberation, he jumped. Faith, in himself, duty, life and the Mondoshawans expert genetic engineering kept him safe and unafraid as he soared through the air. If he was repaired enough, he would be fine when he landed, or soon after. The sensation of flying was like a jolt of freedom. He was in control again as he tucked his legs in and aimed for the slow-moving yellow vehicle. He expected to land on top, but it wasn’t built as well as he’d hoped. He crashed through the ceiling and landed painfully, breaking too much of his body in the process. 

Noises from the vehicle drown out the angry, scared voice of the person inside. He thanked fate, destiny, who over was guiding his path, no one was in the back of the vehicle. He would have killed them when he landed. The vehicle swung to a halt and went quiet. The driver cursed, upset and afraid. He was afraid to show himself to the driver until a kind voice asked for him. He didn't understand the language, but he understood the driver was a good person. He wasn't angry about the crash, the driver was worried if he was okay.


	6. Lets Play It Hard

Big, greyish green eyes stared back at him from behind the partition. A dirty hand with long fingers clutched at the safety glass like the man on the other side wanted to reach out and touch Stiles. He was gorgeous, breathtaking, amazing, even though he was filthy and it looked like he had been wearing some kind of kinky looking club outfit for a few too many nights. Stiles couldn't judge too harshly. Half his clothes only stayed clean looking because they were rubber. And he had a few long benders that landed him in weirder places than the back of his cab. He had never personally fallen off a building before, but he had done worse on a bet. 

Stiles was talking himself into saying hello, maybe hitting on the guy like an asshole. All the man in his back seat really needed though, was to know he was safe. “Hi,” Stiles said cautiously. The man hunkered down in the back seat, but kept his eyes on Stiles like he was a lifeline. “You okay?” Stiles smiled graciously, trying to assure the man he wasn’t going to be upset about the cab getting busted up. 

The man smiled, grinned actually, relief and excitement pouring out of him like a waterfall. Tears pooled in the guys eyes like he wanted to cry he was so relieved. Stiles smiled and laughed a little, happy to see the man was unhurt. Like someone had flipped a switch, the man started talking in a language Stiles didn't know, and he knew a lot of languages. His hands moved frantically, his tone describing something dangerous. Stiles had seen the look on survivors faces before. Haunted, hunted and relieved to be saved, but what was this gorgeous guy running from? 

Watching the guy describe some sort of carnage, listening closely to the inflection in his voice as he tried to make out any familiar words, Stiles understood his story didn’t have anything to do with partying or being on a bender. He was running from someone, and he had been in a plane or a spacefighter. When the man pounded on the safety glass between them it jarred Stiles out of the story the guy was telling and back to reality. He pantomimed being attacked and falling from the sky again, then landing with a boom. It was a dire story, but the guy was cute telling it. Maybe that was just Stiles’ hearteyes filter. 

“Boom, yeah,” Stiles laughed. “I understand boom.” 

The ceiling of his cab was destroyed. That was a reality he had chosen to gloss over for a second there. At least now Fingers would have something to fix. 

“Bada boom,” the guy said gravely. 

Stiles laughed, gesturing wide, agreeing with him. “Big bada boom,” he said as he considered how he was going to explain this whole fiasco to Fingers. 

“Bada! Big bada boom,” the guy insisted. 

Stiles laughed again, repeating the words right along with him. The guy grinned, elated just to be understood finally. “You know you’re lucky you’re not dead,” Stiles said softly, even though he was pretty sure the guy didn’t understand English. 

Police sirens went off behind him and a flood light filled his cab. They had seen the crash, or they were the ones looking for the disarmingly perfect guy in his back seat to begin with. “This is a police patrol, please keep your hands on the wheel. You have an unauthorized passenger in your vehicle. We are going to arrest him,” a voice announced over the loudspeaker. 

Dread and anger filled his chest, but Stiles didn't have any choice. They would arrest him right along with the guy in his back seat and he would rot in jail for weeks before anyone knew what had happened to him. He hated himself for it, but he took a deep breath and grabbed his steering wheel, just like they asked. 

“Sorry sweetheart, looks like this is your ride,” Stiles muttered. “You better do what they say. Sorry.” 

At the loss of his only ally, a frustrated huff came from the backseat as the guy moved to the far side of the cab. Stiles flipped down the rear view mirror. The guy was folded up protectively, confused, hurt, a little smear of blood marking up his nose. His eyes moved desperately over the back seat advertisements like something there might help him. 

“Please... help,” the gorgeous man said in broken English, surprising Stiles. 

“I’ve only got one point left on my license, and I have to use that to get back to the garage to get the cab a six month overhaul.” Stiles hated himself even more, if that was possible, as the excuses came pouring out of his mouth. It was a lie when Fingers said it to him, it was a cowardly cop out when Stiles repeated it. 

“Please help,” the man repeated, his eyes flooding with angry, desperate tears. 

“I can’t,” Stiles said resolutely. After this he was going to torture himself. Sit at the bottom of a bottle and hate everything for the next six months while he obsessively checked the police reports for the gorgeous guy’s face and crimes, hoping he might be able to help out. Stiles didn't think that was really any better than being arrested, but the freedom to choose was the point, maybe...

The police shouted commands at him and Stiles thought about how much better life would be right now if he had his space fighter, not just a beat up yellow cab. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he muttered as he hit the button to release the door. Every act of compliance was another nail in his coffin of guilt. 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” a deep, commanding voice said from inside the police car. 

Somehow, that changed everything. The last thing he wanted to do was cooperate with the government, any kind of government. They had been telling him what to do for far too long and Stiles was done being a good soldier. He reached back and grabbed his seat belt, muttering to himself about how bad all his ideas were, and how brutally Fingers was going to beat him. 

Maybe he would have to finally call his dad. Hopefully his service record would speak for itself if he actually got locked up. Most likely they wouldn’t care who he was, only that he broke their stupid rules, but he had to try. The gorgeous guy in his back seat was not a criminal. Regardless of how rebellious Stiles felt, that much was clear. Whatever was going on was probably the same half-assed, incompetent garbage he expected from the police force. 

Disabling the autodrive, Stiles grabbed hold of the steering wheel and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The cab lurched violently, kicking free the tie down that held them in place. Being free only counted for so much. The big, hulking cab was still a big, hulking cab, no matter his skills as a pilot. He had relied on those skills in worse situations though, to get away from people a lot more dangerous than a bunch of lazy cops. The control box turned red, angry he was breaking the rules again. Some days Stiles swore the god damned cab control box had it out for him. 

“One point has been removed from your license--” It warned, but Stiles reached up and ripped it out of the car before it could warn him to put it on autopilot and go home, or risk being fined and suspended permanently as it disabled the engine. The gorgeous man in the back seat smiled and laughed, excited and relieved they were making their escape. “This is so stupid,” Stiles muttered, but he was smiling too. This was the most fun he’d had in months. 

Maybe it was the dumbest thing he had ever done, but for some reason he’d rather have the entire police force come down on him than disappoint the guy in his back seat. Stiles didn't even know him, but he was sure he needed help. Maybe a lot of it. He couldn’t understand what the man was saying, but he was also sure he had told the truth, asked for help, and put his trust in Stiles even though Stiles hardly deserved such a blatant display of confidence and trust from anyone. 

“We got lucky,” Stiles said after a while. “If they don’t chase you after a mile, they don't chase you.” Stiles realized he spoke too soon when four cop cars showed up in his rear view and turned on their sirens. “Maybe it’s two miles,” he said to himself, mostly. “Hang on,” Stiles said to his far too curious passenger. The guy should be freaking out, upset, scared maybe, but he looked more like he wanted to stick his head out the window and take a good look at the trail of cops behind them. Maybe he was crazy, but gorgeous made it easier to forgive that. 

Banking left, Stiles cringed when a heavy thud hit the partition window. The man in his backseat was tough though. If he survived a fall from god knows where, he could hang in there. Stiles maneuvered the graceless, lumbering cab through the city, doing whatever he had to. Anything to avoid the cab being locked on by the police weapons system. They swerved through the tunnels under the train system, taking random turns through the endless maze only locals like Stiles knew well enough to race through. The police cars kept up. They were probably local boys too. 

Shouting from the backseat distracted Stiles. He gave Gorgeous a minute to get it off his chest even though Stiles didn’t understand anything he said, but the guy just kept complaining. “Look, man. I only speak two languages, English and bad English,” Stiles shouted back. “You know, don't get me wrong,” he shouted louder over the tirade of outrage coming from the backseat. “I’m all for conversation, but maybe you could just shut up for a minute!” 

A moment later the weapons lock alarm went off. The cab wasn’t a space fighter, no matter how hard Stiles wished it. He couldn't out maneuver the cops forever. “Look, dude, I don't know what you did to piss these guys off, but they are really pissed off. Hold on!” Stiles shouted over Gorgeous as he pulled up, breaking through the old wooden train tracks above them. He gasped when they came face to face with a commuter train, banked left quickly and narrowly avoided being smashed to bits. 

It was enough of a close call to lose the police, for a minute. “You’ll be safe for a while,” Stiles promised Gorgeous, who was finally quiet, but looked more than a little shaken up as he stared at Stiles through the rear view mirror. 

The attack detection alarm went off just before they drifted into traffic between two buildings. He pulled off his seat belt and dropped down. Without enough time to properly warn Gorgeous, Stiles hoped he was sharp enough to take cover, like Stiles did. Bullets rained down on them like someone had a personal vendetta against Gorgeous. Stiles wondered if it was more his fault because he gave chase like a car thief. He reached over and pulled the anti grav line on the left engine, tilting the cab so the dense engine was between them and the hellfire of bullets. Glass and sparks showered down on his head. He gripped the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to avoid losing one. 

They drifted behind the next building and Stiles quickly reattached the anti grav line. He sat up, full of rage and determination. They were going to kill both of them because the police didn't know when to quit, or how much force was too much. They were deeply stupid and screwing with the wrong soldier. To top it all, the guy in his backseat didn't look like he had any clue what was going on. Absolutely none, which meant he wasn't guilty of anything except being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that got you killed by the police more often than anyone liked admitting. There was more though, something very wrong with all of it. Stiles fastened his seatbelt and activated all of the auxiliary systems. He wasn’t fucking around anymore. 

“You play it soft, we’ll play it soft. You play it hard, let’s play it hard,” he muttered to himself. He wished he had Fingers sitting behind him instead of a confused, lost passenger. His pride was on the line as well as his life. Stiles wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he was taken down by the clueless, bumbling local police department. The shame would be too great. 

Pointing the cab straight down, Stiles gunned the gas and weaved in and out of traffic, narrowly avoiding more than one potentially fatal collision as he aimed for the ground. “If we make it to the fog, we’ll be alright,” he promised, trying to ignore the shouting coming from his back seat again. “If we make the fog,” he muttered, hoping Gorgeous couldn't tell how shaken he was by the chaos of traffic and the line of near misses. 

Suddenly the grey fog billowed up around them and they were safe. Stiles let out a long groan of relief. He headed over to a shady hotel with a giant old sign and parked the cab on the side of the building behind it. The police went by once, then again, shining their lights, missing them both times. They probably wouldn't come back to the same place after that, but he didn't want to move until he was sure they were safe. 

Once they made the fog line it was easy to find a hiding place. “We’re just going to wait here for a little while until things quiet down, if you don't mind?” Stiles asked. 

The back seat had been quiet for a while, but Stiles assumed Gorgeous was just keeping still like Stiles was. He was wrong. The guy looked like he might be hurt. He was spread out on the back seat uncomfortably, not moving. “Hey,” Stiles shouted. Gorgeous didn’t respond. 

After opening the partition, Stiles undid his seatbelt and took a good look at the state of his very important passenger. Cursing, pissed at himself for being so focused on the wrong things, Stiles moved to help. Gorgeous was passed out, eyes closed, mouth open sprawled out over the back seat like a drunk passenger. He dropped down into the back seat carefully, letting gravity do most of the work. Gorgeous’s eyes opened when Stiles shook his knee, but he was pale, trembling and hurt. It looked like internal bleeding. It was an easy enough fix. Stiles had laser patches in the first aid kit under the front seat, but Gorgeous could have bled out without him even noticing. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Priest,” Gorgeous said, straining to get up. 

Stiles smiled, certain Gorgeous didn’t need last rites. He wasn't about to die even though he was in rough enough shape even Stiles felt bad for him. “You don't need a priest, you need a doctor,” Stiles assured him. “You’re gonna be alright.” 

“Lydia Cornelius,” Gorgeous said in a rough, broken voice. He was pleading for this person, whoever they were. Gorgeous clutched his shoulder, his eyes filling with pain and desperation. “Priest,” he repeated. Then he was gone, passed out cold. Leaving Stiles with no idea what to do.


	7. Perfect

Shaking the priest wasn’t waking her up. Shouting her name didn’t get him anything either. Stiles slapped her face gently, repeating her name louder, but she was out cold. There was nothing in the apartment at first glance that looked like it smelled terrible enough to wake her up, except maybe him, but he was close enough if it was going to do the job, it would have. He loomed over her again, about to shake her shoulders when he reached up and slapped her hard across the face impulsively. Her eyes flickered and he waited, still nothing. 

“Hey!” Stiles shouted, slapping her hard again. “Wake up!” 

Father Lydia Cornelius tore open her eyes and looked right up at Stiles, frozen speechless for a moment before her expression flooded with indignation. “Who are you?” she demanded. 

“Brought the guy with me. Remember, the tattoos?” Stiles asked, nodding in the direction of the couch he dropped Gorgeous on. The priest jumped up out of her chair and rushed past Stiles like she hadn’t just been passed out a few seconds ago. The priest inspected the tattoo again. Stiles tilted his head to see better. It was four sections of dots in wavy and straight lines that made a larger square. “He just dropped in on me.” Stiles grinned at the joke she wouldn’t understand. “Started speaking this bizarre language,” Stiles muttered, mostly to himself. 

“It is not a bizarre language!” the priest exclaimed, giving up on Gorgeous for a moment to batter Stiles with more indignation. “It’s the divine language, the ancient language, spoken across the universe before time was time!”

“Okay,” Stiles grinned, scratching his chin uncomfortably as the priest went on, vehemently defending a language Stiles hadn’t really insulted. 

“Wait, he’s...” the priest stopped mid sentence, mouth open and turned to Gorgeous. “It’s a he? He’s a he. He’s supposed to be a she, but he’s so....”

“Gorgeous,” Stiles interjected. 

“Yes,” the priest shot him an unhappy scowl. 

“I’ve actually been calling him that, but only in my own--” 

“It’s a miracle,” the priest said abruptly, cutting him off because she didn’t really care about anything Stiles had to say. She rubbed her hands over her mouth, her eyes fixed on Gorgeous like he was a reincarnation of Taylor Swift. 

“It’s a miracle he’s still alive,” Stiles pointed out a little tactlessly. 

The priest stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, then gestured abruptly. “We don’t have a moment to lose. Wake him up, but--” the priest pointed at him, waving her hand like a weapon that could shame him into being good. “Gently, though. He is mankind’s most precious possession.” The priest drew in a deep breath, holding her hand to her chest. “He is...perfect.” 

Confused, and reeling from the impact of the words the priest chose to share, Stiles took a step back as she turned on her heel and rush away. Regardless if she was crazy, she left him alone with Gorgeous. She trusted Stiles with ‘mankind’s greatest possession’. He needed to wake up Gorgeous and get the hell out of there. People weren’t possessions, and no one belonged to all of mankind. 

“Perfect...” Stiles muttered, his eyes fixed on Gorgeous because it was the only place in the world that word belonged. 

Maybe the priest was wrong about some stuff, but Gorgeous was special. None of it made sense, but it did at the same time. Something was pulling Stiles into the orbit of this strange, ideal man that literally fell into his life. All the action Stiles had ever seen at war or out in the field never looked like this. He had good luck and bad luck, but most of it stunk like coincidence. The sensation of something dire, something bigger than he could imagine settled over him as he sat down on the edge of the couch. 

Gorgeous was warm, pliant, and serene looking even though he was splayed out on the couch hazardously. Stiles lifted his arm and placed it across his chest gently, then straightened out his legs, grinning at how small and ridiculous he made everything look. His shoulders and arms still stung from carrying Gorgeous in, but it was worth it. Hopefully the priest had his best interest at heart at least. Maybe Stiles had made the right choice bringing him there. He didn’t want to wake Gorgeous up, wasn’t sure he could, but they needed to help him. Stiles needed to try. 

“Hey, Gorgeous, wake up,” Stiles said as he ran his fingers softly over his cheek. 

It wasn’t quite the same tactic he used to wake up the priest, and it didn’t work any better. Stiles drew in a long, sobering breath and looked down at his hands. Both were in oddly intimate places, spread out over his wide chest and wrapped around his shoulder. Gorgeous was silent, unmoving, and more beautiful than anything Stiles had ever seen in his life. Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips against the soft, pale mouth that seemed to be waiting for him. 

The sound of his gun charging up right next to his head forced Stiles to reassess his grasp on reality. It was a dick move, kissing Gorgeous when he was unconscious. He grinned for a moment, not really afraid of the barrel pressing into his temple because he was Prince Charming, he woke up the prince with a fucking kiss. If he died right then it was going to be with a smile on his face, but.... Gorgeous was really unhappy with him, and Stiles deserved it.

Stiles pulled away, averting his eyes and forcing the grin off his face so Gorgeous didn’t blow him away just for being that much of a jerk. “You’re right, you’re right,” Stiles said, holding his hands up so it was clear he understood his position. “I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong to kiss you. I was told to wake you up gently, not kiss you.” Stiles braced himself as Gorgeous pushed him away with the barrel of the gun, forcing him to stand up very carefully. 

Not having much of a choice with the gun glued to his forehead, Stiles did as he was was told, or shown. Gorgeous didn’t say much, but Stiles got the message. He kept his eyes low, held his hands out and didn’t resist the very poignant and justified anger Gorgeous was using to press the gun into his skin. He was angry, really angry, and Stiles was a big pile of shit. Whatever brain damage induced him to kiss Gorgeous without permission vanished like a puff of smoke the moment he had to look into those scared, bizarrely intense green eyes and answer for his crimes. 

“Eto akta gamat,” Gorgeous hissed, slow and clear so Stiles understood exactly what he meant even though the words were still a mystery. 

“Yes,” Stiles agreed, nodding his head a little. As much as Gorgeous would allow. 

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Gorgeous took a step back and released Stiles from the imminent threat of total cranial obliteration. Stiles kept his hands up, but recognized the move for what it was. Gorgeous wasn't that angry anymore. His boundaries had been understood. He was scared, unsure where he was, and he wanted answers. If Stiles hadn’t fucked it up he could have been giving Gorgeous the answers he wanted as a hero. Instead the gun was still trained on his chest because Gorgeous didn’t trust him anymore. Self loathing wasn’t a big enough term to describe how Stiles felt. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said softly. “I thought you might remember me from the cab?” Gorgeous scowled and dropped his eyes like he was thinking. Stiles could have taken the gun right then, but he didn’t want to. He wanted Gorgeous to feel safe. The way his eyes darted and his hands trembled, he didn’t feel safe at all. Far from it. “Remember?” Stiles asked, pressing further. “Bada boom? Big bada boom?” Stiles slowly pantomimed Gorgeous falling into his cab hoping to jog loose the memory. 

“Boom?” Gorgeous asked with a confused scowl, but Stiles was sure he was recalling part of the incident when his shoulders relaxed a little and he stood up straight. 

“The cab, here, look,” Stiles said as he reached around to his back pocket slowly and pulled out a business card. He pushed it toward Gorgeous, the shape of the yellow cab clearly on display. “See, I drive a cab. This is me, Stiles,” he said as he pointed to the name on the front. “You understand? Stiles,” he repeated, pointing to himself by touching an open hand to his chest. 

Gorgeous eyed him suspiciously, then the card, his eyes trying to focus on the words as they darted back and forth. 

“Go ahead, take it. You can call me when you learn how to speak English.” Stiles held the card out, letting go quickly when Gorgeous snatched it away with lightning fast reflexes. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to take the gun away. Suddenly Gorgeous seemed a little more dangerous and having the gun trained on him made Stiles a little nervous. “Um, what is your name?” Stiles asked as Gorgeous took a step back and inspected the card. “I’m Stiles,” he said again, pointing to himself. “Stiles, and you are?” he asked, gesturing to Gorgeous. 

“Derekminaï Lekatariba Lamina-Tchaï Ekbat De Sebat,” poured out of Gorgeous nervously as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. 

“Good, um.” Stiles smiled and nodded, astounded by the tirade of syllables. “That whole thing’s your name, huh?” 

Gorgeous narrowed his eyes and glared at Stiles like he understood what Stiles was saying and didn't like it. 

“Uh,” Stiles stammered, gesturing as he spoke. “Shorter name? Do you have a shorter name? Not like that whole...” Stiles gestured wide illustrating the tediousness of such a long name. “All of it, just short. Tsst, short,” Stiles said, holding his fingers up to pantomime short versus long. “Short, like Stiles, short,” he repeated, unsure if he was getting his point across. 

Realization dawned across Gorgeous’s face. He scowled and lowered his eyes like he was debating, then his hand started to shake. Not the tremble of anxiety he had been struggling with since he woke up, but real, unmitigated fear making his grip on the gun visibly unsteady. His eyes fixed on Stiles and his forehead smoothed out. The seemingly permanent scowl falling away entirely. He desperately wanted to trust Stiles. It was written all over his face. 

“Derek,” he said soft, kind voice, surprising Stiles in too many ways to count. 

Stiles grinned, suddenly bursting with an unreasonable amount of excitement considering a very unsteady hand still had a gun pointed at his chest. “Derek,” Stiles repeated, smiling. “Stiles, Derek,” he said again, gesturing to the both of them, trying to convey how happy just knowing his name made him. Derek’s hand continued to shake, but the corner of his mouth curled up in an amused smiled. 

Scampering feet behind Stiles made his gut sink. He almost had Derek’s trust, but the arrival of the priest was going to ruin most of his efforts. Derek pointed the gun at the priest, terrified again. The priest reared back, stopping short as she realized there was a gun pointed at her. She side stepped, moving protectively in front of a tall, blonde man that followed her. 

Relief poured out of Derek. He smiled weakly, his shoulders dropping as he let out a long, tormented sigh. Surprising Stiles again, Derek laughed a little and gestured to the ornate robes the priest wore. They carried the same symbols tattooed on Derek’s wrist. The priest held up something gold and intricate that was probably important, and Derek smiled again, gesturing to the priest like she was doing everything right. Stiles wasn’t who Gorgeous was looking for, the priest was. 

“Lydia, are you sure he’s the supreme being?” the blonde man asked quietly. 

“Absolutely sure,” the priest said with a warm smile. 

“Old friends, alright.” Stiles talked loudly, hoping to extract himself from whatever was going on. He had already fucked up too many times to keep on trying, and Gorgeous was obviously where he belonged. He would be safe with these people if he liked them so much. He obviously knew how to take care of himself. Stiles took a step toward Gorgeous to get his gun back and got it shoved right back in his face for his trouble. “Okay, you’re right,” Stiles agreed, taking a step back again, his hands held up. “Do you think you could ask him to give my gun back?” Stiles asked the priest.

“What’s your name, son?” the priest asked. 

“Stiles,” he said, smiling at Derek because Derek was watching him. But this time there was no fear or anger, only intense interest even though the gun was still pointed at him. Stiles waved and winked at Derek. 

A worried scowl crinkled Derek’s forehead and he frowned, obviously not liking Stiles’ idea of flirting. 

“Mr. Stiles,” the priest said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the door abruptly. Stiles turned to follow, confused as to how winking and smiling could be offensive. Derek kept his gun trained on Stiles as he headed toward the door. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done,” the priest continued. “You’ve been so kind, but now he needs some rest because he’s been on a long trip.” 

“Yes, I know,” Stiles said as he let the priest guide him out the door. “I was there when he landed.” Stiles grinned, still trying like hell to endear himself to these people even though every rational thought in his head told him to get the hell out while he still could. 

The priest rolled her eyes at his terrible joke and let him go, hurrying to slam the door shut behind him. 

“Hey wait.” Stiles remembered almost too late he had a question. “Wait, wait, Father, please,” Stiles begged, pressing his hand to the door, hoping the priest would answer his one question. She stopped and opened the door just a little, looking up at him with curious eyes. “He said something I didn’t understand--well, I didn't understand any of it, but what does ‘ekto gamat’ mean?” 

The priest opened her mouth and looked back over her shoulder at Derek, confused for a moment. “Never um...” the priest scowled, struggling with the words Stiles probably mangled up and mispronounced. “Never without my permission,” she answered. 

Stiles nodded, deeply regretting his terrible decision making skills. “That’s what I thought.” Stiles cringed as the door slammed in his face. “I shouldn’t have kissed him,” he muttered to himself as he made his way down the hall, back to his wrecked cab. 

Fingers was gonna kill him.


	8. Does The Fare Have A Name?

A forlorn, desperate meow met Stiles as he opened his apartment door. He was four hours late and he had forgotten to stop by the market to pick up Sweetie’s food. 

“I’m so sorry Sweetie,” Stiles said just as the phone started ringing. “How about some nice Thai food to apologize huh?” Sweetie meowed and rolled over on his bed dramatically, trying to milk his remorse for all it was worth. He picked up the phone and cradled it between his ear and shoulder to pet Sweetie as he answered. “What do you want?” Stiles asked. Already annoyed at the person’s bad timing. 

“Hey, buddy, I’ve been waiting all day here,” Fingers said. 

“Fingers, yeah, car’s running fine,” Stiles lied. 

“Where is the cab?” Fingers demanded. 

“Purring like a kitten,” Stiles grinned, running his hands over Sweeties face as she leaned into his attention, forgiving him a little. 

“Fine, what fine? I know you Stiles, fine ain’t in your vocabulary.” Stiles sighed and dropped his hands, picking up the phone off his shoulder. “C’mon, you can tell your old buddy what happened. What did you do, save the planet?” Fingers scoffed. Stiles sat back on the bed, ready and willing to forgive Fingers if he was willing to listen, and he would be once Stiles told the truth. “You dinged the fender again, didn't you? You dinged the goddamned fender,” Fingers cursed. 

“I liked you better when you were a baby faced rookie, Scott,” Stiles snorted. 

“Don’t call me that,” Fingers snapped. 

Stiles stifled a sigh, and a laugh recalling the spattering of bullet holes and the new, Derek shaped sunroof on the cab he was going to have to figure out how to pay for. “Fingers, I was on my way to see you and a big fare fell in my lap,” Stiles said, deciding to tell the right parts of the truth and hope for the best. “You know, one of those really big fares you just can’t resist?” 

“Oh, yeah? How big?” Fingers asked, suddenly much more interested now that there was a reason he could respect. 

Stiles grinned, then ran a hand over his face as he fell back into his bed, trying to keep his outrageous excitement clipped. He was smitten, but Gorgeous was gone, probably forever. The half truth would only serve him as long as Fingers didn't ask too many questions. Still, it felt good to remember Derek, Gorgeous, his Big Fare. Whatever Stiles called him, he was perfect. 

“About six foot, black hair, green eyes, smooth skin. Terrifying angry scowl,” Stiles said softly as he stretched out and tucked an arm behind his head. “You know, perfect.” 

“Ah ha, I see. This perfect fare, he got a name?” Fingers asked. 

“Yeah, Derek,” Stiles grinned.


	9. Chicken

After three full plates of chicken Derek was still starving. His body was repairing itself, but it demanded fuel to complete the job. When he first woke up in the priest’s home he was critical and confused. His body was shutting down after all the trauma, and the crude rebuild. The reboot of the Mondoshawan genetic coding only got him so far. It was an unprecedented amount of stress, but he seemed to be recovering quickly, like he was designed to do. All he needed was protein and water to finish the job. 

The priest showed him how to use the food box, which Derek loved. It was a miracle of science. It was a testament to the very reason he existed. The ingenuity life forms applied to sustain themselves amazed and excited him. The priest’s computer was much faster than spoken word and books Derek had come to rely on in previous incarnations. The priest and her companion seemed surprised by how fast he could use it, but they trusted him and took it all in stride. 

Lydia was good, pure of heart and intention, so was her companion Jordan. They loved each other, loved their work and were completely dedicated to the mission. They were exactly the kind of people Derek hoped for whenever he returned to corporeal form. Now they were looming over him, watching everything he did, waiting for his next request. All they wanted was to be helpful. 

“What is he doing?” Jordan whispered. 

“He’s going through our history, catching up on everything he’s missed,” Lydia explained. “He’s been away for quite a while.” 

Martial Arts popped up on the wikipedia. Derek stopped the scroll and dug deeper, looking up specific styles and new forms of skilled fighting he had not been taught while he slept. The Mondoshawans didn’t engage in hand to hand combat. They were peaceful. They overlooked things like that. Derek familiarized himself with the basic forms, bookmarking information to go back over later. He looked up at Lydia and grinned. Lydia laughed at his enthusiasm like he was a child. He didn’t mind, she had been waiting a long time. He showed up terrified, broken and needy. Of course she wanted to take care of him. 

More chicken waited for him in the kitchen. Knowing it only took a couple presses of a button made him feel like a glutton, but his body was burning through as fast as he could eat it. Once the conversion was done he would be in perfect form, and his appetite would even out. For now, the food box beckoned him. He dumped the bones out in the trash and prepped his plate again, just like Lydia showed him. 

“Chicken,” Derek repeated the odd sounding word, laughing at how easy and satisfying it was to watch it turn from a little, pea sized pellet into a big, tasty dinner. “Good,” he grinned, wishing he could justify using it a dozen more times just to marvel at how far they’d come. 

Intending to immerse himself right back into the wikipedia, Derek tore off a bite of chicken and started nibbling on it as the words scrolled over the screen. 

“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt you,” Lydia apologized. Derek stopped the scroll and gave her his undivided attention. “The case, with the stones?” Lydia asked. “Where is it?” 

Derek explained it was stolen. Lydia was shocked and horrified. Derek was too, but he had a plan.


	10. The Angel Constellation

“I, uh, I didn't know your size so I--” Jordan stammered, dropping a pile of clothing on the desk next to the computer. Jordan picked up the black box and fumbled it over in his hands. “Um, I also got you this makeup box, you just--” He held it up to his face for a moment, showing Derek how it was used. 

“Thank you,” Derek said, watching him curiously for a moment. He seemed irrationally flustered around Derek. Derek was grateful Lydia was the priest and Jordan was just a companion, not the other way around. 

“A blonde woman, came here about a month ago asking about the stones,” Lydia mumbled to herself. Derek watched her pace, like she had been doing since he broke the news to her about the stones being stolen. He told her why they were targeted didn’t matter, but she wouldn’t let it go. “She said she was an art dealer,” Lydia mused. 

The pile of clothing had something the same color as Stiles’ shirt. Orange like the sunset. The same color as Lydia’s hair. Derek picked it up and it bounced, flinging itself out of the pile. Derek laughed and snatched it out of the air to feel the texture. It was the same as Stiles’ shirt, rubbery and soft. He thanked Jordan, but Jordan was too busy watching Lydia try to recall who the fake art dealer was. There was a beautiful white woven shirt and black pants that wouldn’t clash with the orange of what he hoped were suspenders. 

At least Jordan didn't expect him to dress in the subdued looking clothes he and Lydia wore, especially when everyone else was so colorful. When he dropped Jordan’s robe to change and picked up the pants off the pile, Lydia gasped and turned around abruptly. Jordan followed her example, glancing back over his shoulder with red, embarrassed cheeks. Derek had obviously broken some social convention. Derek laughed and pulled the shirt over his head, unconcerned with their shame. 

“Lydia,” Derek said, choosing to speak in the ancient language so only she could understand him. “Don’t worry about the stones. I know exactly where they are.” 

“Where are they?” Lydia asked, responding in English. She could understand Derek when he spoke, but she didn’t speak his language herself very well. “Please,” Lydia pressed, turning back around and coming toward him even though he was still trying to figure out how to wear the orange thing. 

“Here, let me,” Jordan said, holding his hands out helpfully as soon as he saw the mess Derek made of it. Derek handed him the confusing garment and Jordan turned it around holding it out and gesturing for him to step into it. “Careful, just--” Jordan laughed nervously and pulled the straps over Derek’s shoulders. 

“The cases meant nothing,” Derek explained as he adjusted himself. Lydia kept her eyes fixed on his face, indicating clearly that putting your hands down your pants in front of people wasn’t considered acceptable either. Derek noted it all, not wanting to offend anyone or call undue attention to himself in public. “They were empty,” Derek explained. 

“What do you mean, empty?” Lydia asked. 

“The Mondoshawan’s gave the stones to the guardian, a woman of impeccable character with access to nearly everywhere in the galaxy. She is a Diva, a well loved and respected performer. She took another route to the meeting place. I’m supposed to contact her when she gets to her hotel, and I’m looking up the address right now,” Derek explained. 

Lydia translated roughly for Jordan’s benefit, looking surprised and pleased Derek knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Here,” Derek said, pointing to the location on the computer screen. Lydia and Jordan crowded around him to see where he was pointing. 

“It’s planet Fhloston in the Angel constellation,”Jordan announced. 

Lydia let out a long sigh of relief. “We’re saved.” 

Derek smiled, laughing at her worry. It was his job to get to the pyramid and stand on the dais. He was a warrior, protecting life itself was his mission. It was his only job and it had been for millennia. He could never remember exactly how he accomplished things each time, but it was always a profound challenge. A test that life was still worth maintaining. 

The Mondoshawans explained that for each victory his reward was to live a long and full life. His remains would be collected after his death and kept safe by the guardians until it was time to be reborn again. Most of the memories died with his bodies, but some he retained. Like the knowledge that evil would do anything to stop him, but he always won, somehow.


	11. The Mystery Of The Guilded Box

The mystery of the gilded black box became the most interesting thing in the room when Derek had to give up the computer to Jordan. They wanted to look up the schematics of the hotel, and Derek didn't know how to do that. He sat down with another plate of chicken and started poking at the box. He held it up like Jordan did, but didn’t see anything. He pressed all the buttons, shook it, turned it over and inspected the beautiful gold symbols on the front, but none of it indicated what the box was used for. 

Finally curious enough, Derek wiped his hands off and picked up the box with both hands. He held it to his face like Jordan showed him and pressed the button at the same time, wondering if the combination would make it work. It made a loud sound, a lot like the laser gun Stiles left behind charging up, and lights flashed inside. His eyes felt warm and heavy for a moment, but nothing else happened. He turned the box over in his hands, still unsure what it did when a knock sounded at the door. Maybe it was Stiles, Derek hoped. He felt terrible about how Lydia ran him off. Derek was scared and hurt, not thinking clearly, he didn't want Stiles to go. 

Even though Stiles was rough, rude and unconventional, the same could be said about Derek from a human point of view. In this world at least. Stiles apologized, and let Derek be angry without any recourse when Stiles made a mistake. It was the best two people from wildly different places could hope for. The fact that Stiles succeeded in bringing him to Lydia after hiding him from the authorities, then didn't insist on getting his weapon back, proved how much he regarded Derek. It also proved how useful he was, and how important is was to him Derek was safe. 

"Jackson?" Lydia exclaimed through the open door. 

"Mrs. Argent wants to see you," a voice said. 

"Mrs. Argent?"


	12. How Important

"Jackson, the only reason I'm here at all is because I want to be,” Lydia stated calmly. “I was with President Boyd earlier today.” 

“The President?” Jackson scoffed. “You’ve always been such a bad liar.”

“It’s not a lie,” Lydia pressed, still maintaining her calm even though she wanted to slap his smug face. “If you’re smart, you will let me out right now and hope to god they don’t follow you, or arrest you.” 

“Who?” Jackson asked, suddenly interested in what she had to say. 

“The Secret Service,” Lydia answered pointedly. Their brash, arrest first, never ask questions later reputation made Jackson’s face go blank, masking his anxiety. “They’re going to be following me around for at least a couple days to make sure I'm not handing off any internal secrets." Lydia had no idea if Secret Service was following her, but it sounded legit, and it was her best chance at bluffing her way out. 

Jackson picked up a tablet off his armrest and started tapping. The limo they were in was decked out with technology Lydia would never hope to understand, but she wished for a moment she had paid much closer attention when Jordan tried to teach her things. Jackson was scowling at the screen,not paying any attention to her because he knew she was useless and trapped as well. It was infuriating. 

A moment later his face fell and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Why were you with the President?” he asked.

“Business,” Lydia hissed. 

“Your freaky cult and the stones are the only business you have,” Jackson snapped. “The president knows about them?” 

“No one can find them!” Lydia pressed. She was bluffing, but she knew exactly how to lie to Jackson, exactly which buttons to push. She was never the problem, his faith was. “If you know where they are Jackson, the fate of all life in the universe--” 

“Fuck!” he cursed loudly. “Just stop right there. I can't handle one more second of your self-righteous bullshit,” Jackson hissed. His nostrils flared as he glared at her, unhappy he wasn't getting what he wanted. “I left the order for a reason Lydia, it’s all fairy tales. All you and your little scattered cult of sycophants are doing is getting in the way of a huge, multi billion dollar art deal.” He was angry with her still. Faithless, broken, and selfish, just like he chose to be. She could make that work for her. 

“We need those stones Jackson,” Lydia pleaded. She reached out like she was going to touch him, then pulled back, hoping she looked suitably wounded when he sneered at her. “I know you’re still loyal in your heart. If you know anything about them--”

“You’re the last person I would tell,” Jackson snapped. He fell back in his seat, disappointed and angry. She had sold him on her desperation. She hoped it would count for something with his boss. “This is a fucking waste of time,” he muttered under his breath. 

The limo stopped and waited for one of the back doors to open into Argent Incorporated. The company had full body scanner security. Lydia held her breath as the green lasers cut through everything, flaring behind her closed eyes and making her blind for a moment. The multi-galactic conglomerate responsible for employing half of earth's residents, and billions more across the galaxies had their hands in everyone’s pie. They had to be careful.

Lydia was roughly escorted through a series of long hallways with closed doors, to a grandiose hall with a huge set of double doors that had to lead into Argent’s office. A pert, tight lipped young man glared at Lydia as she was escorted through the doors. He was only a secretary, but he looked like he wished he could skin her alive. If the help was so annoyed with her, that meant Argent was making their lives hell. It didn’t bode well for her longevity. 

Jackson finally gave the order for the security guys to release her when they stopped inside the sickeningly luxurious office. If Lydia wasn’t worried about how quickly she was going to die in this scenario, she might have laughed outright at all the waste and ridiculousness around her. A tall, long legged blonde woman waited behind a oversized desk. The same one who visited Lydia before, asking about the stones, Kate Argent. She and Jackson talked for a moment, Jackson cast Lydia a disparaging glance before he shook his head gravely. 

Kate glared at her, then smiled. It was less a smile though, and more like she was baring her teeth trying to scare Lydia. It was working. “Jackson tells me you’re just as useless as you were the first time we talked,” Kate Argent said smoothly, but loud enough her voice echoed off the walls. “And this time you’re being followed by secret service,” she laughed. “How important.” The sound of Kate’s high heels echoed through the room as she approached. “You are a tiny little menace, aren't you?” Kate scowled. 

“Do you have the stones?” Lydia demanded. Kate stopped a few paces away and waited, like she wanted Lydia to burst open, so Lydia did. “You don’t understand, Miss Argent, those stones are not art, they’re an ancient key to a powerful weapon that will save all of humanity. We need them. All of us need them. If you know where they are, please, you must give them to me,” Lydia insisted. 

She knew she was there because they hoped she knew where the stones were, but Lydia was good at playing the blind, single minded zealot when it served her. It worked on Jackson, and Argent when they met the first time. Kate wasn’t buying it entirely though. She narrowed her eyes, circling Lydia like she was lunch. But Lydia wasn’t as cute and sweet as she looked. Kate loomed over her, not that much taller really, but the ridiculously high heels made her look more formidable. Lydia played into it, looking away and shifting uncomfortably. 

“I won’t--” Lydia stuttered. “I’ll die before I tell you how to use them,” she whispered, not having to lie or act her way through her declaration at all. 

“You wouldn’t be lying about what you know, would you?” Kate smiled. “Jackson can be dense. And he’ll buy just about anything if you force feed it to him,” Kate laughed. “He followed you blindly for years, just how smart can he be, right?” she smirked. Kate grabbed Lydia’s chin between her fingers and tipped her head up, looking her in the eye. “Tell me what you know about the stones,” she demanded. 

Lydia clenched her jaw, setting her face with a determined scowl. “You don't understand, this isn't about money,” she argued. “We need those stones to save all life in the universe! All of it! You aren’t special, your life depends on it just as much as everyone else!” Everything she said made Kate’s face fall in frustration and disappointment. It passed the test, ringing true because it was true. Lydia knew it, believed it with every fiber of her being. 

“Boring,” Kate said with a cruel snarl. She shoved Lydia away. “Get her out of here. Take her home. I don't want to bother with the mess of cleaning up the splatter she’ll leave behind,” Kate ordered the security guards still standing behind Lydia. Kate reached out and grabbed Jackson by the front of the shirt, curling her long, manicured nails into a fist. 

Startled, Jackson turned to Lydia, watching her leave like he wished he could go with her. It hurt her heart looking away as the big men dragged her back out the doors. Whatever wrath Lydia had managed to avoid was going to be placed squarely in Jackson’s lap, but he made his choice years ago. Still, as the doors got smaller behind her, Lydia kept turning and looking, hoping to see Jackson run after her. Hoping one last time he would choose her again, and come home. 

“Bring me those stones!” Kate’s voice rang cruelly down the hall, and Lydia cringed, tears of frustration wetting her lashes. 

Lydia sent a silent prayer to the elements for Jackson, asking he be set free of his bonds to someone so evil, regardless of his choices. For a moment she wished God was still listening, but he couldn’t. He was sitting in her living room, bound to a corporeal body, struggling to save them all from total annihilation.


	13. The Chapter Lacking That One Wildly Racist Character, You're Welcome.

Full on Thai food, Stiles and Sweetie sat at the window seat and watched the sun set. She was perched on his knees precariously. That was as far out over the city as she was brave enough to go, which was just far enough to watch the traffic pass below them. He imagined she watched the cars with the same predatorial curiosity she had for the fish and the television. If she squinted right, it almost looked like food. Maybe something she could hunt down at eviscerate at least, like the fluffy feather toys he bought her sometimes. 

“This is why I let you wander the halls. We all know you’re the one who keeps all the mice and cockroaches away, huh Sweetie,” Stiles grinned, running his fingers through her soft, white fur. She looked up at him with wide, curious eyes and started purring. 

The sound of the mail tube interrupted their mini vacation. A letter dropped into the slot and Sweetie launched herself off his legs to pace underneath it. She meowed and curled herself in circles underneath it, her unrequited curiosity proving she wasn't going to let this new, fantastical thing go. 

“We don't want to open that,” Stiles said gravely. Sweetie disagreed with a loud meow. “No, you don't understand,” he explained. “The first one of these I got was a letter from Heather saying she was leaving me. The other one was from Isaac, saying he was leaving with Heather. Nothing good comes out of this box,” he insisted. 

Again, Sweetie meowed. A long, plaintive noise that said she was going to keep complaining, loudly, until he gave her what she wanted. It was a new thing she had never seen, and life would be painfully incomplete if she didn't find out what it was. 

“Fine,” Stiles caved. He snatched the envelope up and opened it. Inside was a letter from the cab company’s parent company, Argent Incorporated. “I’m fired.” Stiles sighed and tossed the paper on the floor for Sweetie. She immediately walked all over it, sniffed it, then tried to bat at the curled edges. At least it would keep her occupied for a while. It wasn't like he expected to keep his job after the day he had, but it still stung. 

When his phone rang, Stiles cursed. For months no one gave half a shit about him. No one called, no one checked up on him, nothing, now the fucking world wouldn't leave him alone. 

“Hello?” he barked unhappily as he picked up. 

“Is that any way to greet your mother?” Erica demanded on the other end. “Stiles, sweetheart, you got broken fingers, you can't punch my number and call me back? Seventeen messages I’ve left you, and don't tell me your phone is broken again, those things are good for one thousand years.” 

“Erica, you are not my mother,” he sighed. It wasn't true. Erica had called him, every Sunday like clockwork. He couldn’t be mad at her. She loved him, but that didn't make her less annoying, or less crazy. “Just because you married and divorced my dad does not make you my mother,” he insisted for the hundredth time. 

“I’m the best mother. You’re such an ungrateful brat,” Erica argued. She didn't mean it though. She never did. Her unfiltered mouth was why he loved her so much when he was a kid. He still liked it now, less, but still. 

“You’re only thirteen years older than me,” Stiles reminded her. 

“I could be thirteen years younger and I’d still be a good mother. Don’t I call you and check up on you all the time?” 

“You do,” Stiles conceded. “What’s up, why did you call?” he asked. 

“Really? You’re going to pretend you don't know? I suppose you’re going to take that fucking cat on vacation with you and leave me to freeze my ass off on the lunar surface,” Erica complained. 

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asked. 

“Good lord, you’re hopeless. If you go alone, or worse yet take one of your military buddies you’re never going to meet anyone. I’m never going to be a grandmother. You’re going to make me beg aren’t you? I’m not--” 

“Jesus Christ, will you slow the fuck down? I don’t want to make you beg, all I want is an explanation!” Stiles insisted. He was frustrated, and pushed to his limit, and if he vented to Erica, she would still love him later. “Look, I just got in. I smashed my cab, I lost my job, and maybe my future husband. Besides that everything’s peachy, thanks for askin’,” Stiles snapped. He took a deep breath, surprised the other end of the line was silent. “Now will you just settle down and explain things to me calmly?”

“You don't know you’ve won a trip to Fhloston Paradise for two, for ten days?”

“No, if I would have won a trip I’d know about it. Somebody would have notified me.” Stiles turned around on his bed, eyeing the mail tube suspiciously. Just as he was about to look away it flashed red and a letter dropped into the slot. Sweetie looked up from tearing apart his termination letter to stare at the new toy curiously. 

“Stiles, they’ve been blaring your name out on the radio for the last hour, you ass.” 

The door buzzed. Stiles turned on the security console. His father, General John Stilinski and a uniformed meathead were standing outside his apartment. “Ma, I’ll call you back, Dad’s here. I love you,” Stiles said, ignoring the outrage that blasted through the line right before he ended the call. He wouldn't take anyone but Erica on a nice vacation. If he did win, he’d call her back and make it up to her, if he lived through whatever his instincts were telling him was coming for him, fast.


	14. We're Here To Save The World

“Dad, how nice of you to join us in the five thousand block, please sit.” Stiles gestured to the bed and the chair next to the window. “Make yourselves comfortable.” Stiles smiled unhappily as he put up the coffee pot and pressed the auto brew button like a good host. The last person he wanted to see was his dad, but today was obviously the day for it. “What brings you to my humble abode?” 

The General looked around Stiles’ small studio apartment, his nostrils flaring with disgust as he judged the surroundings. A tiny scowl the only real indication of his disappointment, but it was plenty. “Well, son, we have a mission for you, if you’re not too busy.” 

“I’m retired, and I have a new job.” Stiles noted how his dad’s eyebrows raised in surprise for just a moment. His dad knew he’d been fired, somehow. 

“I heard you lost your job,” his dad said far too casually. He was just as observant as Stiles, but a much worse liar. 

“You heard that?” Stiles asked. He was so annoyed and trying desperately not to get pissed off. Obviously, his dad had something to do with it. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the shredded cab he still had hidden in his garage. “Don’t worry, I’ll get another job,” he snapped. 

“Take this mission. It’s important Stiles,” his father said gravely. “You wouldn’t just be saving a few colonists here and there, you’d be saving the world.” 

Stiles laughed, dumbfound by his father’s audacity, and terrible pitch. “Save the world,” he muttered, chuckling at the absurdity. 

“You will be going to Fhloston Paradise to retrieve four stones from the Diva Allalaguna and bring them back to earth with the utmost discretion possible, any questions?” Stiles stomach sank. His father was no longer requesting he take the job, he was commanding. 

Stiles had to figure out what the fuck was really going on before he got sucked in any further. He wasn’t going. No one could make him. “Yeah, I got one question, why me. I retired six months ago,” Stiles said with all the feigned disinterest he could muster. “You remember why?” 

“I do son, but you’re the most highly decorated officer in the elite forces unit and the only man qualified man for the job,” his father said gravely. 

“I’m the only member of my elite forces unit still alive,” Stiles reminded him. 

“Have you checked your mail today son? Could be important.” His dad ignored the unsettling gravity of Stiles statement and walked toward the mail tube like nothing was wrong. Stiles wrapped his fingers around the light fixture in his kitchen unit, trying his best to hold back the rage building in his chest. His dad opened his letter and a tiny, robot voice announced he had won. “Look, you’ve won the annual Gemini contest. A trip for two to Fhloston Paradise,” his dad chuckled, so very pleased with himself. 

Stiles gripped the light fixture in front of him, all the rage culminating in his grizzled, scarred up hands. It crumbled to pieces, ripping off the kitchen unit far too easily. The short, burly officer that accompanied his dad took a step back, startled by his silent outburst. His big, brown eyes watched Stiles intently, like he was actually frightened. That’s when Stiles was sure the meathead hadn't seen even one day of combat. Just another boot licker, Stiles supposed. 

“You rigged the contest?” Stiles snapped. 

“Congratulations son, old tricks are the best tricks, eh?” his dad smiled. He walked over to the burly little soldier and put a hand on his shoulder. “Lieutenant Dunbar will accompany you on your mission, as your husband.” 

Stiles took one look at the wide eyed, rabbit faced meat shield and shook his head. “I am not going with that guy,” he insisted. 

“Why not? What’s wrong with Liam?” his dad asked, genuinely confused by Stiles’ immediate rejection. As usual, his dad assumed any guy made of muscle was automatically his type. 

The doorbell rang again and Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes. He wasn't even surprised this time. “Fuck this day, fuck it right in the face,” he muttered as he rushed past the wall of uniforms. Stunned, Stiles’ struggled to understand why Derek was standing in the hallway, curiously poking at the camera above the door. “Shit,” he cursed. 

“Who is it?” his dad asked. 

The government was looking for Derek, maybe even had something to do with whatever mission his dad was trying to pressure him into, if Stiles’ instincts were right. It was just too much coincidence. If Derek saw the uniforms he would probably run and Stiles would definitely never see him again. Stiles spun around searching for a place to hide them. He considered darting out the door and locking it from the outside, but Lieutenant Dunbar was scowling at him like he expected Stiles to do something crazy. The last thing he needed was to get tackled to the ground by an overly enthusiastic disciple of General John Stilinski. 

“Who is it?” his dad insisted again. 

“Um, my husband,” Stiles said nervously. 

“Bullshit,” his dad scoffed. 

“I just met him last night dad, and I’m going to marry him. I swear to god,” Stiles promised. He pulled out his best ‘good son’ voice and the scowl frozen to his dad’s eyebrows softened, predictably. “He’s perfect. We’ll have kids and go live on the moon with Mom. You can even visit as much as you want! But he knows the military fucked up my last marriage. I promised him it was over dad, you have to hide,” Stiles said as he shoved his dad and his minion toward the kitchen unit. His refrigerator was always empty, and they would fit, maybe. “You gotta help me, just hide in here!” 

“Son,” his dad shouted. “This is ridiculous, we are not going to fit.” 

“Sure you can, part of the mission. C’mon,” Stiles said as he tore out all of the shelves and shoved them both in. They fit surprisingly well. His dad scowled, unwilling to play along once he realized Stiles was serious. “Thanks dad!” Stiles said as he slammed the door in their face. He pressed the shower button and the refrigerator sunk into the floor as the shower glided into place. 

Suddenly more nervous than seemed reasonable, given the circumstances, Stiles checked his face in the shower mirror. Satisfied, he ran for the door and opened it. 

“Apipoulai,” Derek said, waving at Stiles with a tight lipped grin. He was dressed, well dressed actually. His startling eyes were even more captivating. Stiles tried not to stare, or stutter, then wondered who had given him a makeup box. Stiles doubted it was the priest. 

Finally Stiles waved back, unsure if he should compliment Derek’s eyes, or the familiar orange of his suspenders first. Instead of doing either of those things, Stiles grinned like an idiot until the priest darted around the corner carrying Stiles’ gun, the one he so graciously left behind for Derek. Grave and determined, the tiny, redheaded priest powered up the gun and pressed Stiles back into his apartment. She trained the gun on his chest with a steady hand and glared up at him, like he was the enemy. 

Taken totally off guard, Stiles backed up with his hands held high as the priest pushed him further into his apartment. “I’m very sorry to have to resort to this Mr. Wallace--” 

“Dallas, it’s Mr. Dallas,” Stiles corrected her. 

“--Mr. Dallas, I apologize, but we heard about your good luck on the radio,” she continued as Derek walked in behind her, totally unphased, smiling as he pressed the buttons on the door controls like a kid pushing all the elevator buttons. Derek’s relaxed curiosity made Stiles feel better. He obviously wasn’t in on what the priest was up to. “We need your tickets for Fhloston,” she announced. 

The door shut and Derek took a step back, smiling and pleased with himself. 

“Is this the way priests usually take vacations?” Stiles asked. He watched Derek as he inspected Stiles’ shelves, his eyes darting over all his military trophies and the photos Stiles still cared enough about to keep. 

“We’re not going on vacation, we’re on a mission,” the priest explained. 

“What kind of mission?” Stiles asked, holding back a grin at the absurdity of what the priest was suggesting. It was obviously the same mission his dad was about to send him on, but why, or how the priest was involved...

“We have to save the world,” the priest said gravely, her eyes apologetic and determined at the same time. 

“You’re gonna save the world?” Stiles asked, a grin breaking through his calm exterior as he watched Derek go through all of his things enthusiastically. He picked up commendation medals and photographs and turning them over like he was discovering beautiful treasures. Smiles and subdued delight casting over derek’s face as he touched the photo’s. 

Derek was just as into Stiles, as Stiles was into him. 

“Yes!” the priest snapped, her terror and uncertainty leaking through the indignation. Stiles wasn’t giving her his undivided attention, or any respect. 

Alarms went off, the red warning light on the ceiling flashing. A loud, robotic voice called out, “this is a police patrol, this is not an exercise.” 

Acting on instinct, Stiles rushed to action. He grabbed the gun from the startled priest and pulled Derek toward him protectively. Stiles was singularly determined to protect Derek from the authorities and he couldn’t explain why, not even to himself. He didn't need to. He acted on instinct alone enough times to be sure of himself. When he was right, he was right, and he was done talking people into it. Twenty three dead buddies were enough. 

“C’mon, you gotta get in here,” Stiles insisted, shoving Derek into the shower unit. Derek trusted him enough to comply without question. “One, minute, alright? Just stay here for one minute, you’ll be safe, I promise.” Stiles hit the refrigerator button and the shower raised into the ceiling slowly. Derek, to his credit, stayed inside. “Don’t touch anything,” Stiles warned. Derek nodded, wide eyed and worried as his face vanished into the ceiling. 

Thankfully the priest was tiny. Stiles threw her down on the bed, but she wasn’t as trusting as Derek. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked, angrily batting at his hands. 

“I’m trying to save your ass so you can save the world,” Stiles answered with only a little sarcasm. He hit the button to put the bed away, ignoring the priest’s flustered protests. She flattened herself out as the bed slid into the wall as the unit closed. 

Hurrying to the detainment wall, Stiles placed his hands in the yellow circles and spread his feet, just like he was supposed to. A clink on his door indicated someone was looking through it with a door reader. “Sir, are you classified as human?” A voice asked over his intercom. 

Leaning toward the flashing red detainment intercom Stiles answered, “negative, I am a meat popsicle,” because it would take them at least five minutes to verify that wasn't actually the English term for a rare alien species. 

It was just enough time for the asshole next door to get busted by the perpetually predictable, lazy municipal cops. As predicted, the asshole told the cops to fuck off, and they found the card. Stiles left one of his business cards under his creepy neighbor’s door number every time shit got weird. Today was weird, and thankfully, he remembered. The cops assumed the guys was him because they wanted any excuse to make life easy, and punish people who disrespected them. Stiles laughed quietly at what someone might call good luck, but was really well thought out tactical dickery. 

“The police patrol is now over, thank you for your cooperation,” Robot Voice announced. “Have a nice day.”

As soon as the hallways were clear, Stiles rushed over to the refrigerator and pressed the shower button. It lowered down, but water was dripping everywhere. Derek was soaking wet and shivering, his gorgeous black eye makeup streaming down his face, totally ruined. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I forgot about the auto wash,” Stiles apologized. He ran his hands up and down Derek’s arms trying to warm him up, but it was a useless gesture. He was chilled to the bone. Stiles caught him as he stumbled out and almost slipped on the wet floor. “There’s an auto wash in that shower and I’m such an idiot, I forgot.” Stiles continued to apologize, but Derek was too cold to care. 

Clean towels were in the closet, underneath all of his toiletries. Stiles yanked one out, not caring how much of a mess he made when they spilled all over the floor. He rushed back to Derek and wrapped the towel around his shoulders, innocently intending to dry him off, but Derek moved toward him. It wasn’t his fault, really. Stiles was hyper aware of the dwindling space between them and lost focus on the emergency at hand. 

Being that close to Derek was nice for a moment, but it only took Stiles a second to realize Derek was probably more attracted to his warmth than Stiles himself. It didn’t lessen the impact of Derek’s gorgeous face, his eyes and cheeks smeared with enough ruined makeup to convince anyone Derek was both tragic and painfully beautiful. Stiles wanted to kiss him, but he had to ask permission first. That rule had already been firmly established. 

“Autowash?” Derek asked, his voice trembling with cold. 

“Yeah, autowash,” Stiles confirmed, hoping Derek understood what he meant. Stiles remembered himself and began drying Derek off for real. “You know what’s funny? I’ve met you twice today and both times you’ve ended up in my arms,” Stiles grinned, staying close to Derek as he dried off his chest and face. “It’s my lucky day,” Stiles smiled and Derek leaned closer. 

“Lucky,” Derek said tentatively, still shivering with cold. 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed as he tucked the towel tight around Derek’s shoulders and held him close. A strange, strangled noise came from the wall, dragging his attention away from Derek’s eyes. “Did you hear something?” Stiles asked. 

“Lydia,” Derek answered. 

The priest! Stiles had forgotten about the priest, and he forgot to disable the autoseal before he trapped her in there. Rushing to the bed unit, Stiles slammed his hand into the release button and the bed rolled out. He tore open the cellophane cover and Lydia gasped for air. The plastic pest control seal had wrapped the mattress up with Lydia inside. Stiles cursed himself for breaking the child safety scan just because he didn't like to make his bed every day. 

“I got you,” Stiles said as he pulled Lydia to her feet and held her as she caught her breath. “You’re okay,” Stiles assured her. 

“Autowash,” Derek announced, maybe attempting to commiserate with the half suffocated priest. Stiles was easily the worst host ever. 

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles said as Lydia struggled to get away from him. She slapped his hands and straightened her robes on her own. Indignation seemed to be her personal super power. Stiles took a deep breath, relieved she was okay enough to care about her dignity, and turned to see how Derek was doing. He and Lydia both drew in a sharp breath, both mortified Derek was already naked and wringing out his wet clothes in the middle of his apartment. They turned away quickly, Stiles cringing because seeing Derek naked with a priest standing right next to him was some kind of personal nightmare. “You want a cup of coffee?” he asked Lydia. 

“Yes, please,” she replied tartly. 

“Coffee’s not really my specialty,” Stiles said, trying to deflect the awkwardness a little. “You must drink a lot of coffee being a priest, huh?” Stiles cringed again at how stupid he sounded, shaking his head, wondering when all his chill evaporated. 

The sound of cascading water hitting the floor proved Derek wasn't done yet. Just knowing Derek was naked in his room was enough to turn him into a bumbling, nervous idiot with a hardon the size of the Knowles Building. He was about to reach down and check his pants, just to be sure he didn't create another incident when he realized he was finally going to have a story to tell Erica when she called, if she even believed it. 

Then Stiles remembered his dad and Meathead Dunbar still trapped in the fridge. A dull thud resonated through his skull, and pain suddenly bloomed through his head right before the world went black. His dad would have to wait.


	15. Now You Know Why I Have Abandonment Issues

“How could you! You hurt him!” Derek shouted as Lydia rushed down the hall ahead of him. One of Stiles’ neighbors looked up at them as she unlocked her door--wide eyed--and rushed in. She couldn’t understand the ancient language Derek spoke, but the fact that he was angry and getting closer by the second was enough to alarm her. Lydia held the papers up, the one’s she stole from Stiles. She made some halfassed excuse for her behavior Derek refused to listen to. She was trying to shout over him, so Derek shouted louder. “You had no reason to do that! He was going to help us!” 

“Jordan is waiting at the station!” Lydia argued as they stepped onto the elevator. “ We have to go now, we don't have time to talk him into the plan!” 

Derek fumed, angry and worried about Stiles, but Lydia was right. The flight was taking off soon and they were cutting it close as it was. Still, he didn't have to like it. Not one bit. 

***

“Fuck!” Stiles cursed. He picked up the medal of valor trophy the priest had hit him over the head with and slammed it down on the window seat angrily. The fucking thing weighed ten pounds. A useless piece of shit, unless you were trying to knock someone out cold. He remembered his father and the minion trapped in the fridge again and opened the door. They both fell out, freezing cold and pale. 

“I’ll take the mission,” Stiles said as he snatched the paper out of his father’s hands. 

Thankfully they were both too cold, stiff and worried about their own welfare to pay much attention to him as he called Finger and filled him in. Finger understood when it was go time. He only asked pertinent questions, and agreed to come by and feed Sweetie so Stiles didn't worry. Stiles packed up and ran out the door, ignoring his dad’s weak protests. They didn't know what was really at stake. The military was just as useless as the trophy, except when it came to weapons and resources, and those he already had the clearance paperwork for. He'd thank his dad later, after he and Derek came back. Part of him hoped he could keep the promise he made his dad about grand kids on the lunar surface. Erica had a nice yard. It would be a great place to raise kids, in his wildest dreams.


	16. MULTIPASS

“Here, take this,” Lydia pushed a plastic card into his hands and gave one to Jordan. “Jordan Stiles Stilinski Dallas,” Lydia pointed at the name on Jordan’s multipass, showing him the name. 

“You’re Stiles?” Derek asked Jordan. “He’s going to be Stiles? Why can't you be Stiles?” Derek asked. Jordan watched him talk with a scowl, still annoyed he didn't understand the ancient language Derek spoke, but Derek didn’t want to talk to anyone but Lydia, he didn't think he would need to anytime soon. 

“I can't possibly be Stiles, his multi pass genders him a man, and I am obviously not a man,” Lydia scoffed. Jordan eyed him, annoyed because Lydia was speaking English, and Derek understood her. He knew Derek could speak English if he wanted, he was leaving Jordan out intentionally. “Jordan will be fine. He’ll be fine,” she insisted, but Derek could tell she didn't believe it. “He’ll protect you,” Lydia continued, more for Jordan’s sake than Derek’s. 

Looking Jordan up and down, Derek decided protecting him might be easier than protecting Lydia, actually. Jordan was nervous, hypervigilant, and used to taking orders. Lydia was not. 

“Now please, go to the Diva. Collect the stones, and meet me at the temple,” Lydia commanded resolutely. She was sure of that part. 

Derek smiled, pleased she had so much faith in him. “Okay,” he nodded, assuring her they would do as she asked. 

Deception was not something Jordan was good at though. Once they made it to the ticket window Derek smiled at the pretty lady in blue who asked for their tickets and she smiled back, appreciating his good looks openly. Being attractive made it much easier to navigate this world, which wasn't a good sign for the culture, but it hardly mattered. He just hoped the extended eye contact and smile he kept trained on the blue woman would distract her enough she wouldn't care about Jordan’s nervousness and trembling hands. She took his tickets without comment and ran them through her machine. 

“ID please?” the blue lady asked. 

“Here,” Jordan said, holding up the fake multipass. Derek smiled at the woman again and she glanced over at him, more interested in doing her job really than worrying about Jordan’s nervousness or Derek’s flirtatious smile. “Sorry, uh,” Jordan stammer as he flipped the multipass around to the side with his photograph. 

“Right there.” The blue lady pointed to a slot just big enough to hold the multipass. “Mr. Dallas?” she asked with a smile. 

“Uh, yeah?” Jordan answered. Derek picked up a strange looking card on the table and pretended Jordan’s behavior was normal for him, and Derek was already bored of it.

“Congratulations on winning the contest,” the blue woman smiled. 

“Right, okay,” Jordan laughed with obvious relief. 

Unsure if they were going to make it all the way to Fhloston if Jordan was going to sweat his way through each security checkpoint, Derek smiled at the woman again and looked around like anything was more interesting than his weird, fake husband. When he looked over his shoulder to comment on the giant piles of garbage, he found Stiles was walking down the aisle toward them. 

“Look, who’s here!” Derek exclaimed in his own language, but no one understood him without Lydia around. He was going to have to start speaking English, soon. 

Stiles ran up to the two of them and wrapped his arm around Jordan’s shoulders warmly with a big grin on his face. “Whew, man, I was so worried I was going to miss this flight I sent...” Stiles picked up Jordan’s multipass and read the name. “--Jordan here, to come and pick up my boarding pass.” Stiles grinned and pushed Jordan away as he stammer in protest. “Now Jordan has to go,” Stiles grinned wide, but he pushed Jordan away a little too roughly. The blue woman looked mildly alarmed. 

After everything they had done to Stiles he was here, still willing to help, and he was much better than Jordan at making it through a tough situation, obviously. Derek was worried about the switch for a moment, but he was more thankful to have someone around who wasn’t debilitatingly nervous. Derek laughed as Stiles intimidated Jordan a little more than he needed to, playing along. Jordan nodded, smiling, holding up his hands like it was all a big joke, then turned and ran away. Straight to Lydia, Derek hoped. He never wanted to go anyways. Jordan was good at a lot of things, but he would be better at helping Lydia set up the temple. Derek had been worried about her getting there on her own and setting up by herself. It was difficult, dangerous work. 

“I am Stiles Stilinski-Dallas,” Stiles grinned at the blue lady as he held up his authentic multipass. He shoved it in the slot and the woman read the information, probably assuming Jordan was a relative with a similar name. Everyone seemed to share names now, and they had so many of them, not like the old days. It was so confusing. 

“And this is?” the blue lady asked, nodding to Derek. 

“Derek Dallas, multipass,” Derek said, holding it up with the the photograph visible, just like Stiles had done. 

“Yeah,” Stiles smiled, nodding in agreement. “Derek Dallas, he’s my husband,” Stiles grinned, laughing a little as he took the multipass out of Derek’s hand rudely and shoved it in the slot. “We’re newlyweds, just met, sparks fly, you know how it is?” 

“Multi-pass,” Derek repeated, reading the words off off Stiles’ card. He knew exactly what they were, he didn't need Stiles to speak for him. 

“Yeah, we know it’s a multipass,” Stiles laughed dismissively, like Derek was the weird one. It annoyed Derek. Maybe Stiles was a bit of a jerk after all. “Anyways, we’re in love,” Stiles grinned. Derek smiled, liking the sound of that, no matter how annoying Stiles was.


	17. Cheap Scotch and Bad Company

“I know, I know,” Lydia slurred into her cheap scotch. She had too many, too fast and now she was dead to rights, drunk. “I know he was made to be strong, but he’s also so fragile, so... human? Do you know what I mean?” Lydia gestured to the automated bartender wondering what would possess her to even speak to it in the first place. 

“Do you want some more?” it’s warbling, robot voice asked her. 

“Yes,” Lydia answered quickly, before she could talk herself out of it. 

Jordan’s hand reached out and snatched the scotch away before Lydia could wrap her fingers around it. “Make that two,” Jordan asked the automated bartender. 

“Oh, Jordan!” Lydia smiled, her stomach sank when she realized he was supposed to be gone. Jordan emptied the scotch in one big gulp. “Jordan, where’s Derek?” Lydia asked. 

“He’s on the plane with Major Dallas. He showed up and--I thought he was going to kill me,” Jordan said quickly. “He was so pissed and Derek just went along with it. I didn’t know what to do without alerting security and--will he be alright with Major Dallas?” Jordan took a deep breath and grabbed the next scotch the bartender put down for him. 

“This--oh, no, this is my fault!” Lydia exclaimed. “I am the servant, it was my mission, I should have never given it to you.” 

“I know, I’m--I’m sorry,” Jordan said with a horrible, guilty expression. 

“Here,” Lydia said frantically as she dragged the key over her head and pressed it into Jordan’s hand. “I’m trusting you, prepare the temple for our arrival,” she instructed Jordan. “I can do this. I can,” Lydia muttered to herself, ignoring Jordan’s protests as she slipped off the bar stool and ran toward the station gates.


	18. Flirting With Good Company

The fact that Derek didn't speak English would work for him, hopefully. Anything weird Stiles could write off as general ignorance to social convention. He would have to translate, or pretend to. Derek seemed to understand English okay, or at least he understood Stiles. He smiled and nodded at the right times, and did as he was asked. It seemed to be going pretty smooth so far. 

“Keep your multipass out, but don’t say anything, okay? Let me do the talking,” Stiles asked gently as he threaded his fingers through Derek’s. 

It wasn’t Stiles’ idea of a perfect first date, or maybe it was. Derek glanced over at Stiles as they walked down the next line like he was happy Stiles was there. That was something. Derek squeezed his hand and tugged him closer. That was even better. At first Stiles wasn't sure if Derek was going to go along with his plan, but it seemed like maybe Derek was a little excited about him showing up unexpected. Just considering that possibility was distracting enough to make Stiles reconsider dwelling on it. 

Derek was every bit as perfect as Stiles could have imagined if he dreamed someone up just for him, besides the not speaking English part, but they could fix that. Derek was obviously quick to pick things up. He wanted to pull Derek out of the line and duck into one of the doors lining the long hall, push him up against a wall and ask nicely before he laid a kiss on Derek good enough to make his knees weak. Imagining Derek’s lips pink and worn out from a kiss like that made Stiles feel flush and too warm all over. Derek’s fingers brushed his cheek, but when Stiles looked over at him he was watching the attendant at the front of the line intently. He had a cute, dimpled grin though. Stiles was definitely being toyed with, in the best way. 

At the front of the line the flight attendant took his multipass and looked it over, gasping as she read his name. “Oh, Mr. Dallas, oh, um, we really need you right now,” she said as she grabbed his arm and pulled him away toward a side door. Stiles looked back at Derek, unsure if he was going to be okay, but he smiled and let go of Stiles’ hand like he wasn't worried. “Ruby Rhod is broadcasting live and she needs you to come down here for an interview.”

Leaving Derek behind was the last thing he wanted to do. He was just getting comfortable. Watching him disappear behind the swinging door was almost painful.


	19. Fate's Best Laid Plans

It was the craziest thing Lydia had ever done, but she was sure she could slip in once someone from security used the door. Then she could find the ship before it took off. All she had to do was get into the bay and climb up into the landing gear like she had seen on the learning channel. They were constantly running shows about how criminals got away with the things like that. Jordan loved those shows. Lydia tolerated them, but she'd never been so grateful for Jordan's odd obsession with crime and law enforcement more than she was right then. Once she got in she could just find a place to curl up and sleep, like the rest of the passengers. She was drunk enough, that wouldn't be a problem, and the spaceships were huge inside. They talked on the news about how people stowed away all the time. She would be fine. She was sure of it. 

Gun fire sounded in the station. She hoped and prayed Jordan was okay, that he was already far away and headed home. She wanted to run back and make sure, but she couldn't take the chance. Alarms went off and a string of security guards marched out of the bay doors. She flattened herself up against the wall as they passed and slipped in as the door was closing. It was thrilling to act without deliberating. She didn't have time to think, she had to go, or get left behind. She ran as fast as she could to the bay floor and waited, watching the maintenance workers refuel the plane. 

Impatiently, Lydia recited prayers until she saw a window of opportunity. The maintenance workers were done refueling and cleaning the pests from the plane. They were walking away, their backs turned toward her. She ran to the landing gear, stopping only when she realized the wheels were all taller than she was. Trusting she could make it if she just did it, she climbed the side of one and hefted herself into the alcove above the wheel. Immediately, she found a hatch that said 'Electrical' that was just big enough for a person to crawl through. If it was a maintenance shaft it would probably take her all over the ship. 

Fate was on her side, she was saved.


	20. Super Green

“Miss Ruby Rhod is just the greatest, don’t you think?” the flight attendant asked. Her alarming level of enthusiasm worried Stiles. “It is such a great honor to be on her talk show. She is so green,” the attendant continued. 

“Yes, I’m sure we’re all very excited, but I’m on my vacation and I don't really want to be bothered,” Stiles said, but the flight attendant stared at him like he was a freak. “I prefer to remain anonymous,” he pressed. 

Music blasted down the hallway and the door slammed open before he could convince the flight attendant to let him go without bringing unwanted attention. A tall, long legged woman in a leopard print jumpsuit with big, blonde hair and dark brown skin strutted down the hall toward him like a predator. She walked like she intended to murder him once she got there, but she stopped a few feet away and held up her hands before announcing his name to the world in a big, booming voice. They were already live on the radio broadcast. 

“Here he is, the one and only winner of the Gemini Croquet contest!” she declared. A group of minions dressed in matching leopard print followed her down the hallway like the entourage in a bad sitcom. “This boy is fueled, like fire,” she said seductively into her microphone. Stiles liked how she looked at him, but he only seemed to be interested in women who wanted to kill him, so that wasn't a good sign. “This boy is hotter than hot,” she hissed as she invaded his space. “Does he have something to say to the fifty billion pair of ears out there?” Ruby pointed her microphone in his face. “Pop it D-man!” she demanded, staring at him expectantly.

There was no way of getting out of this. Ruby Rhod and her whole crew were silent, waiting for him to speak. The show was live, he knew that from listening to it in the cab sometimes. “Uh, hi,” Stiles said, startled by how much his voice echoed into the mic. 

“Unbelievable!” Ruby exclaimed as she glared at him. She had mastered the art of making her voice sound happy and excited even though her face promised pain. She was a dangerous person. 

The minions grabbed him and pushed him down the hall It was all he could do to keep from throwing them to the ground. They were civilians though, almost the same as children, Stiles kept telling himself. As they passed a door the priest, Lydia, came through. She took one look at him and the big crowd and turned right back around. Stiles couldn’t believe she made it onto the plane, but he couldn't help her, not when he was trapped by Team Leopard Print. Everything was moving so fast, he didn't have time to extract himself. Lydia was on her own. 

“Quiver ladies, quiver!” Ruby announced. “Because this boy is gonna set the world on fire! Right here from five to seven you’ll know everything there is to know about Stiles Dallas,” she promised. 

The long hallway they entered was full of people waiting for Ruby, except one startled flight attendant who happened to be crossing the hall. Ruby pointed at her and walked down the hall, freezing her in place with her overt attention. She leaned close, brushing her lips against the flight attendant’s freckled cheek. “His dreams,” Ruby whispered seductively. The flight attendant smiled uncomfortably and clasped her hands together. “His desires, his most intimates of intimates.” Ruby leaned in like she was about to kiss the flight attendant and much to Stiles surprise, the flight attendant reciprocated, waiting for Ruby to keep her unspoken promise. 

“And from what I’m looking at intimate is this stud muffins middle name!” Ruby exclaimed, leaving the flight attendant in the lurch. She followed Ruby with her eyes, disappointed she didn't get her epic, memorable kiss. Stiles almost felt bad for her. Ruby shoved the microphone back in his face once they were at the end of the hall, a murderous glare in her eye promising she would make him pay if he fumbled it again. “Tell me my man, are you nervous in the service?” she asked. 

“Uh, not really,” Stiles answered, challenging her determination with his own unmovable unwillingness to make a spectacle of himself. 

Ruby’s nostrils flared, but she took his arm anyways and went on, talking into her microphone like he wasn't even there as they walked down the hall together. She handed him a glass of champagne and let him go, walking ahead of him as she listed items off a brochure someone handed her as part of her tirade of words. Stiles sighed and allowed himself to be ushered along, trying his best not to pay attention until Ruby started singing and dancing in the middle of the hall. That, even he was powerless to ignore. 

Abruptly distracted by yet another flight attendant, Ruby circled her like a predator, whispering things Stiles couldn't understand from so far away, but the attendant’s cheeks turned red and her eyes followed Ruby intensely. Ruby leaned in this time and kissed the woman, so long and so passionately, Stiles felt like he was watching something he shouldn't be. The rest of her minions watched on, unimpressed, like she did that sort of thing all the time. 

As soon as the red light went off on Ruby’s microphone she let go of the attendant like she was trash. Stiles didn't like that at all. Ruby dropped her microphone into a minions hands and took a cigarette from another one. The tallest minion reached over the rest of them to light the cigarette as a voice called out over the loudspeakers that the recording was over, and they would be back at five. 

“How was it?” Ruby asked. The minions gushed like minions were expected to do, but Ruby wasn't buying it. “Green like what?” she demanded. The minions gushed some more, but she continued to scowl in Stiles’ direction. “Bzz,” Ruby said as she shooed the minions away, frustrated and annoyed, with Stiles still, obviously. 

She made her way toward him immersed in the murder walk like it had power over him. She had probably never met someone like Stiles in her life. Everyone she knew catered to her every whim. She was going to be hard, if not impossible to shake if she really wanted something from him. She stopped directly in front of him, making a valiant attempt to stare him down. If he was a lesser man she would have shredded his resolve already, but Stiles wasn’t phased. 

Ruby dropped her cigarette and crushed it under the toe of her impossibly high heels. “Stiles, sweetheart, what the fuck was that? You give me nothing! I have a show to run here and it’s got to pop! So, from five to seven can you please act like you have more than a two word vocabulary!” Ruby gestured to his face like she thought he was dumb or painfully ugly, Stiles couldn’t tell which. “Green?” she asked. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Stiles whispered, ushering Ruby into the corner. He was done, he was worried about Derek, and unwilling to be away from him for so long. Not to mention, this shit was a joke. 

Ruby followed him into the corner willingly, acting like she was genuinely interested in listening to him, maybe even helping, but it was all an act before she tried to intimidate him into being compliant again. Stiles waited until they were out of everyone’s line of sight and slammed her against the wall roughly, pinning her in place with a firm hand on her chest. She made a quiet little squeak of a noise and grabbed his arm with both hands. Much to her credit, she didn't scream for help like she could have. Stiles counted on her having the bark to match her bite. She was brave enough, that was obvious. 

“I didn't come here to play celebrity with you, so from five to seven you’re gonna give yourself a hand,” Stiles pressed angrily. “Green?” 

“Super green,” Ruby nodded, all the false bravado and flair gone. 

“Good.” Stiles let her go and took her hand, guiding her back out to the waiting arms of her minions. He handed her off to the tallest one and smiled graciously. “Thank you so much, it's been such an honor to be on your show,” Stiles gushed appropriately. Mostly so no one else would suspect he wasn’t totally dazzled like he should be. Ruby eyed him warily as he made his way out the side door in search of Derek, or Lydia, whoever he could find first. 

The last thing he wanted to do was rough up a civilian, but he knew it would get the job done, and he just didn't have time to play games. All his instincts were telling him something very big was going down, no matter how crazy everyone sounded when they kept on saying they were going to save the world. He couldn't afford to waste time on petty shit if that much was at stake.


	21. A New Kind Of War

Thankfully there was a language program in the onboard entertainment system. Derek scanned English first, amused by how it catered to the tourist experience at first, but deeper in the software there was a general language guide he read through while he was waiting for Stiles to come back. As he was finishing he considered some of the words he found in Lydia’s dictionary. War stuck out in his mind. He hadn’t gotten to it yet, but contextually he understood the concept from the language guide. He wanted to learn more about that, and the different kinds of love. The language guide described three different kinds, but indicated there were more. Derek didn’t quite understand how that worked. He only knew one love, for life itself. It wasn't something personal like he understood human’s used it now, but it was good and motivating. 

The all encompassing love he understood made him feel important and connected to people, like Lydia and Jordan. They loved too, and it motivated all three of them toward a common goal. But Derek was also attracted to Stiles like they were magnets circling each other. It felt the same, but different, deeper and more personal. Like it was just for him and no one else. Derek wasn't sure if it was right, or good, but he couldn't rationalize it being bad. Especially not when it brought Stiles to him, and motivated him to help Derek save all life. In that regard, it had to be good, maybe even destined. 

Sounds of Stiles outside the doors of their sleep pod stole Derek’s attention away from the entertainment screen. Stiles slid into the chamber next to him. His long, lithe body immediately filled the small space with his enticing scent. Derek wanted to get closer, see how Stiles might respond, but a grave looking scowl stopped him. The excited flight attendant made it sound like Stiles was going to have fun. Whatever it was, he obviously didn't agree. Derek smiled, hoping whatever they made him do wasn't too bad. 

“Hi,” Derek said proudly. “How was your interview?” he asked, just like he practiced. 

“Oh, you speak English now?” Stiles asked. 

“Yes, I learn.” Derek pointed to the screen where the program dictionary was scrolling by. 

“Good,” Stiles sighed in relief, unsurprised by Derek’s declaration. Lydia and Jordan were both astounded by how fast he could learn, but Stiles seemed to take it in stride. “Derek, we are not on vacation,” Stiles warned. “We’re on a mission, a very important mission and I work for some very important people,” he explained. Derek guessed this was the real reason for Stiles’ scowl. “If I hadn’t come to get you, you would be in big trouble.” Stiles reached out and ran a hand down Derek’s arm, concerned about him. “Do you understand that?” Stiles asked. “Big trouble?” 

“Yes,” Derek agreed, surprised Stiles was so concerned when he obviously had so much faith in Derek’s abilities already. “No trouble,” Derek assured him, pointing to himself. “Fifth element, Supreme Being. I will protect you.” Derek pointed at Stiles, hoping he understood. 

The heavy, too fast heartbeat that emanated from Stiles’ like an alarm proved what Derek said scared him, but Derek also heard the attendant walking toward them putting people to sleep for the flight. 

“Sleep,” Derek said, pointing to the attendant so Stiles would stop worrying about him. 

The gamma waves in the sleep regulator knocked Stiles out immediately. They made Derek a little tired. He laid his head down so the attendant would pass, but he sat back up and went right back to the scrolling dictionary, finishing up too quickly. It was rudimentary at best, but gave him a much better understanding of the English he would need on his mission, and that was all he really needed at the moment. 

The flight took a few hours, but they were traveling at the speed of light. Derek familiarized himself with the entire entertainment system, reading up on all the cultures and languages in the internal storage. When he was done with that he messed around with the operating system until he understood how that worked as well. Once he exhausted the entire thing, all the way down to it’s programming, he turned his attention to Stiles. 

It was wrong to touch him, maybe. Stiles seemed to like when Derek touched him quite a bit. He also took every opportunity he had to touch Derek in return. It was like Stiles didn't think there should be a barrier between them, but they were still separate. Stiles was mortal, human, and fragile. Derek was ancient, and temporary. If he succeeded he would be rewarded with life, and all the luxuries that went along with it, but he had forgotten exactly what that meant. He only knew they were amazing, exciting and worth it. He wondered if sharing them would make it better, like the language suggested. 

Bravely, maybe inappropriately, Derek picked up Stiles’ hand and inspected his skin. He was scarred and rough. His veins traveled close to the surface, trailing across his skin like wandering streams of life. His knuckles were red and permanently swollen with scars. One of his fingernails was split from when Derek wrecked his cab. He was damaged from fighting, in old ways and new. It happened in war, if the dictionary was to be believed, because Stiles was in the military. All of the memories and trophies in his room proved he had spent most of his short life flying space fighters and saving people. He was special, elite, a warrior like Derek, but he wasn’t as prepared for the kind of fight that was coming, not like Derek was. It was better than having someone like Jordan, but more dangerous in ways because Stiles thought he knew what he was doing, but he didn't. Not really. 

Pressing his lips to Stiles’ hand, Derek promised himself he would keep Stiles safe. He would take care of the stones on his own, and bring them back to Stiles. Once Derek had the stones, keeping them safe was something Stiles would be good at. They would find a way to get back home together. His military might have a way waiting for them, if they were lucky. Lucky was a new word, a word Stiles said often. Derek always seemed to be lucky, like destiny was on his side, and finding Stiles at all was the greatest luck Derek could ever imagine.


	22. Truth, Lies, and the Unburdened

Alone, Stiles was alone. Derek was gone. He pushed through the dozens of bleary eyed people putting their shoes on in the halls and rushed through the crowd of passengers heading through the plane to the hotel. He scanned the crowd for Derek. Looking for anyone tall and dark, but he saw nothing. People chatted around him, a woman put flowers around his neck, but Stiles was only interested in finding Derek. Stiles searched the entire floor, but he was nowhere to be found. He went to hospitality and checked in, hoping. maybe, Derek had already gone to their room. 

A tall, leggy blonde woman decked out in a bunch of flowers attached herself to Stiles, informing him she was his personal valet. She dragged him through the ship, rattling on about the hotel amenities as Stiles scanned for Derek everywhere they went. Once they were inside the room, Stiles looked around for evidence Derek had already been there, but there was nothing. He picked up a flyer for the Diva’s show and read the information. 

“Is the Diva here yet?” Stiles asked. 

“Not yet,” the blonde answered. 

“Are there any tickets left? I’m a really big fan.” 

“You have a seat reserved, in the front row, next to Ruby Rhod,” the woman said, blushing like she was excited by simply talking about the woman who dominated the intergalactic radio waves. “She’s so talented, don't you think? I just love her, she’s so sexy.” the blonde gushed. “Well anyways,” she smiled when Stiles didn't agree outloud. “She has your ticket for the show and she’ll be here in twenty minutes to pick you up.” 

Stiles cringed, thinking about dealing with Ruby again. Hopefully she would leave him alone this time. “Do you know where I can get something to wear?” he asked. 

The beautiful blonde pressed a button on the wall and the closet opened, revealing a whole rack of suit jackets. “Enjoy your evening Mr. Dallas,” she said graciously. He wished he had cash to tip her, but she didn't seem to expect it. 

“Thank you,” Stiles smiled. 

***

Derek pressed himself against the wall, waiting for the Diva Allalaguna to make her way down the hall to her suite. Derek could feel her presence, like a beacon radiating warmth and comfort. She was purity, and goodness, and her thoughts resonated like glass to him from all the way across the ship. Her people came from an aquatic planet and spoke with their thoughts far more than their voices. They were bound to be more loving and open, living with that kind of transparency, but even amongst her people Allalaguna was renowned for her kindness and talent. 

A strong sense of internal peace and calmness washed over Derek as she came closer. Most beings were deeply affected by the aura she projected, some moved to displays of emotion. The Mondoshawans had warned him. No matter what happened, or how upset he was, he needed to remain calm, but she was making sure of that for him. She really was profoundly kind. Derek kept to his hiding place around the corner as he listened to the steward trip over his words, unsure of himself in such an awe inspiring presence. After a moment footsteps approached and stopped on the other side of the wall, just around the corner from where he was hiding. 

“Miss Ally wants you to know how glad she is that you are here,” a soothing voice said quietly. “She’ll give you what you’ve come to get, after the concert. Stay here,” the voice commanded. The messenger retreated immediately, not giving Derek time to respond. He suspected he didn't need to. Ally already knew his answer.

It wasn’t ideal to stay and wait. Stiles would worry, but he was caught up in the contest business and the radio show. It was better if Derek was far away from that. The people of the universe didn’t need to know he existed, or know how close they all were to destruction. Feeling safe, even if it was a lie, was how they carried on. The truth was reserved for the select few ambitious and honorable enough to sacrifice themselves so life could continue unburdened. Panic never helped the masses, Derek didn't want to start now.


	23. Thrilled

“Time to join Ruby Rhod and Mr. Dallas,” a radio announcer voice bellowed over the loudspeakers. “The lucky winner of the Gemini Croquette contest, coming at you live from--”

“--Fhloston Paradise!” Ruby Rhod broke out next to Stiles. Her big, sexy voice filling the air around her, commanding attention as she walked the promenade in her slinky black operatic catsuit. Red roses cascaded over her shoulders. Matching flowers were piled high in her hair. Ruby was gorgeous, and even more dangerous looking than before. “Ruby Rhod at your service, for two hours of the sexy D-man, at the opera shmoozing and boozing with the best!” 

Ruby grabbed his arm and dragged him along with her as she walked the promenade, making a show of introducing him to the hotel manager and the stunning beauty queen, Miss Gemini Croquette. It was much more Ruby announcing their presence and making them feel important than introductions. Stiles wasn't expected to talk to anyone, and no one even looked at him with Ruby standing next to him, which was just fine with Stiles. 

“We’re here with 8000 other ears to enjoy the unique gift of a concert with the incomparable Diva, Miss Allalaguna!” Ruby announced into her microphone with renewed vigor. She turned to him and smiled. “Let’s go in and see what’s probably the most beautiful concert hall in all the universe!,” she said to him, but kept talking, not expecting a single word from him. She definitely understood his boundaries, which gave him the freedom to look for Derek. “You think Miss Ally gets to play here often? I say she gets to play this place whenever she wants because the only thing more beautiful than this opera hall is the Diva herself!” Ruby continued, talking more to the microphone than Stiles. 

Inside, the hall was gorgeous. All high ceilings, vast tiers, and rows of seats. They were down on the floor, in the VIP section. In all the time Stiles served the military in undercover operations he never played it rich. It was something completely foreign to him, but he could adapt to any situation. It wasn't much different than a stripper bar in Andromeda, except the beautiful people here wanted his validation, not his money. He smiled at the gaggle of beautiful people waiting at the end of the row for Ruby, flattered by their approving looks and smiles. 

“Let’s see the who’s who?” Ruby said to him, and the other 50 billion people listening. “Over here we got a hall of wrinkly old ministers, more sinister than minister,” she said, pointing to a bunch of old men with sour looks on their faces. “A few Generals practicing how to sleep. And there's Baby Ray, star of stage and screen, drowning in a sea of nymphets. He's not gonna get much out of this concert, he's stone-deaf!” Ruby laughed, pointing at a beautiful, bashful looking man surrounded by women who were all trying to talk to him, but he just nodded politely and autographed what they handed him. 

Ruby grinned at him conspiratorially and Stiles couldn’t help but smile back. She was calling all of them out, and everyone let her because she was vicious, and ruthless. It was pretty entertaining because they were all ridiculous. Once Stiles didn't have a target painted on him anymore, he understood how it worked, and why Ruby fit in so well. Ruby continued down the aisle, her arm linked with Stiles’ as she introduced a massive guy as a laserball legend, then pointed to the emperor of a constellation. “And over there is the Emperor Kodar Japhet whose lovely daughter-- ‘I love to sing in the shower’, she recently confessed to me.” Ruby leaned close and whispered in his ear even though all of her listeners could still hear as well. “By the way, I have a recording of her beautiful voice,” Ruby pressed a button on her microphone and a soft, orgasmic moan echoed out. 

Laughing, Stiles covered his mouth. If he was in his cab he’d be rolling with laughter, but he couldn’t do something like that over the radio, on a mssion. 

“Bashful, so adorable,” Ruby said affectionately. “Come on D-man. I’ll play you the rest of the song after the show, because now it’s time for Stiles to say the word of the day!” Ruby announced. She raised her eyebrow, challenging him to find fault in her plan to brand his preference for monosyllabic speech, at least where public speaking was concerned. “Tell me my man, you happy out here in the big world?” She looked at him warily, holding her breath like she was hoping he wouldn’t fuck it up. 

“Thrilled,” Stiles said into the microphone. 

Ruby both smiled and bristled at the same time, probably thankful he said more than yes, but still pissed off she had to play along. “And now, time for a commercial break!” she announced. She pushed him down into his seat and walked away, rightfully preferring the company of her minions to Stiles and his necessary rudeness. She was kind of cool, but still far more than he was willing to take on with a microphone in her hand. 

Warily keeping an eye on Ruby, Stiles watched her tap a waiter on the shoulder. He turned around but didn’t offer the tray of champagne he was holding, or take his eyes off Ruby’s face. Something was definitely off about the guy. Even someone not interested in women would still give her garish ensemble a once over. The waiter was hostile looking, too confident, and he moved through the crowd like he was going somewhere once he walked away from Ruby. Stiles wanted to get up and follow him, but that wasn’t his mission. Instead, he memorized the man’s face for later, just in case. 

Suddenly an odd sense of calm and peace made Stiles’ chest feel warm. The house lights flashed and Stiles sat back in his seat to give Ruby room to pass him before sitting down next to him. The warm, comforting sensation was so foreign in his chest Stiles rubbed at the front of his shirt uncomfortably. It had been a years since he felt so at peace. It wasn't right, not when he had a mission. Something was happening, and it wasn't coming from him. He didn't have any of the champagne, so he wasn’t drugged, unless it was aerosol. Stiles looked around, worried by the other tranquil expressions around him. 

“Will you stop fidgeting?” Ruby hissed. “It’s just the Diva Ally.” 

“You mean this...” Stiles waved a hand over the offending sensation in his chest. 

“Yes, that,” Ruby whispered and rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever relax? Take a spa day? Or are you gonna be one of those creeps that has some kind of religious experience because his momma never loved him?” 

“My mother is dead,” Stiles stated. The scowl on Ruby’s face smoothed out and she looked up at the stage, probably so she didn't have to look at him. “Sorry,” he muttered, unsure why he admitted something so personal. He wasn't even nervous or shocked by the fact he did. Peace was supposed to feel good, not uncomfortable. “Maybe I should--”

“You’ll be fine,” Ruby assured him quietly. Stopping his protest by covering his hand with hers. Stiles was just getting used to the sensation of Ruby’s long, red nails gently scratching over the back of his hand soothingly when the Diva made her way out on the stage. 

A new wave of emotion that didn’t belong to him flooded through his chest. For years he had trained himself to ignore his feelings, push them aside in favor of completing a mission, or saving people who needed his protection. He remembered being excited like the Diva was projecting, but it was so long ago he couldn’t remember how he was supposed to deal with it. Ruby uncurled his clenched fingers and threaded hers through his. He wanted to reject her, push her away, or just let go of her hand, but the closer the Diva Ally came to the front of the stage, the more overwhelming her presence was. 

The music started and the Diva began to sing. It was an old opera from Earth, Italian, something Erica had made him listen to far too often when he was a kid. But this time Stiles understood perfectly how broken and needful the Diva was without the love of her life. Stiles’ thoughts kept imposing Derek’s face over the lost love, forcing him to imagine a world without him. It tore at him in a way he didn't understand. Stiles didn't need anyone, especially not someone he barely knew, but no one else in his life had ever moved him the way Derek did. 

When the diva sang about rejecting her lover, keeping him away because she thought it was the best way to keep him safe, then watching him fall in love with another even though they both knew they belonged together, it wrenched at his heart painfully. Then the Diva turned to Stiles, pointing her long, graceful finger right at him. Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat and glanced at Ruby. She was swept up in the story, her eyes fixed on the Diva even though her hand held his tight. The Diva changed the words of the opera he knew so well, describing hope, and the beauty of true love. She sang directly to him, telling him love was his guide. His love was everything, perfect and powerful, and capable of saving everyone. 

There was something bigger to what Derek said, how he was the supreme being, the fifth element. Maybe he really could save them all.


	24. Kill Or Be Killed

Through the concert Derek listened over the ship’s intercom. He kept vigil outside of the Diva’s rooms like he was told to, waiting patiently. The calm of her presence was gone, but the profound impact of her song still reached him. He mourned a thing he never had, and didn't know if he really understood. Loving one person so much it either built a person up or tore their entire world down didn't make sense to him. It seemed foolish and short sighted, but he wanted to know it all the same. Derek wrapped his arms around his own chest and held himself tight because it felt better than leaving the strange ache in his chest alone. 

A knock sounded on the Diva’s door. Derek was so caught up in the Diva’s song playing through the halls he hadn't even noticed someone walking down the hall. Peeking around the corner quickly, he was just in time to see a group of Mangalores. They were the ones who shot the Mondoshawan down, he was sure of it. They destroyed his friends and the only family he had ever known for nothing more than profit. Rage flooded through him, replacing all of the confusion and self doubt with a single minded purpose: kill them before they killed again. 

Taking them down wasn’t as difficult as it should have been. Not in the face of all they had taken from him. One against twelve, brutish, but highly trained warriors, and he made them all look like fumbling children. As he taunted and knocked out the last one, Derek felt a pang of guilt when he saw the Diva’s manager and one of her assistants dead on the ground. Taking out his rage on them felt good in the moment, but it didn’t give the Mondoshawan, the manager, or the assistant back their lives. 

In the end it didn't matter how he felt, he had a mission. Derek picked up the empty box the Mangalores had mistaken for the stones, intending to take it to the Diva. He was sure she had the stones with her, but they would need the box, and Derek didn't want to leave it behind. He also didn't want the Diva to come back and see what he had done, he hoped he could find her before she headed back to her rooms. Stiles would help him, he would know how to clean it all up. 

“Bravo,” a brittle, saccharine voice said. “My compliments young man, thank you for doing all the dirty work.” A tall, blonde woman with a disarmingly wicked grin smiled at Derek. She was armed with a dangerous looking weapon. “I couldn’t have done a better job myself. Now hand over the stones,” she demanded. 

Derek did not understand how so many people could be so deeply stupid. A box did not equal stones. He scowled and held the box tighter, hoping to trick the woman into continuing to assume the stones were in the box. When she had it in her hands she might notice it was a little light. Derek had no idea who she was, but evil was very good at swaying the very powerful to it’s side with fear. The powerful were used to getting what they wanted. That made the woman a very dangerous person. 

Playing along unknowingly, the woman charged the weapon the same way Stiles’ gun charged. She trained it on Derek’s chest and waved it threateningly. Derek could sense the empty halls all around them and the echo of air through the ventilation ducts. He would only have a moment before the woman tried to kill him. She would never turn her back and walk away from someone as dangerous as he was. He threw the box at her, turned and lunged for the piano that was miraculously still standing after his fight with the Mangalores. 

Crashing through the ceiling vent, Derek scrambled to get outside of the room but a rain of bullets like nothing he could have ever imagined came blasting through the ceiling all around him. Pain spiraled through his leg, his arm and his abdomen and he stopped, falling limp as blood pooled around him. The bullets stopped as well, thankfully. The only chance he had to survive was staying still, and hope the woman was also stupid enough to assume blood equalled death. He listened as she moved around the room, cursing and scrambling to keep things close to her. She left the door open when she finally left. 

Once she was gone Derek tried to crawl out of the vent. All he had to do was get somewhere he could be seen, and someone would help him, he hoped. The bullet wounds were already healing, but the bullets were still inside him. They were making him feel sick and feverish. They were probably poisoned. Flares of red and purple danced in his eyes as he got closer to the vent. If he could get down, he could find something to cut the bullets out, but his muscles felt weak and shaky. He tried to pull himself closer, but his hands stopped working and the dim light was fading. He was going blind. His heart was slowing down and he was paralyzed. 

No one would find him in the ceiling, no one would know where he had gone. He should have told Stiles. He wished he had trusted Stiles more. He needed help, but none was coming. He was going to die in the ventilation shafts and evil would win. All life would end because Derek thought it was better to keep Stiles safe, far away from him, but he wasn't safe. No one was safe. Stiles would die like the rest. Snuffed out in the blink of an eye because no one would be there to stop it.


	25. Don't Worry, Mason Lives

Gun fire stopped the Diva and the music. It took Stiles a moment to realize it really was gunfire he heard. For a moment violence felt like an impossible thing, but he was still in the same world, not the one the Diva created for them. People were screaming and running. Stiles ducked down, searching for the source of the gun fire, still bewildered and off his game. Listening to the concert had destroyed his focus. His adrenaline was pumping like when he was a rookie recruit during drills. Bullets whizzed past his head and hit the Diva. She toppled over and Stiles cursed himself. He should have protected her. She was an easy target, up on the stage alone. 

“I got you,” Stiles said as he braved the rain of bullets to drag her off the stage. She grabbed on to his shoulders weakly, trying to help him. He laid her down on the floor, falling back on his training, focusing on her injuries like he was taught. He pulled off his jacket and pressed it against her wound. It was in her abdomen, but he didn't know much about her anatomy. It might not be fatal. “The government sent me to help you, just stay calm,” Stiles said to the Diva. 

“Is she okay? Is she going to be okay?” Ruby asked, hunkering down next to them, close to Stiles’ back. 

“You must give her the stones,” the Diva Ally said quietly, but her voice was odd. It resonated deep in his bones, made him feel like his whole person was vibrating with energy. 

Stiles had to ignore it, he had to concentrate on the enemy and what the Diva was telling him, both. “Who?” he asked. 

“The Fifth Element, the supreme being sent to us to save the universe,” the Diva answered calmly. Stiles checked her over as she spoke, trying to concentrate on something other than the waves of calming energy pulsating from the Diva. He needed calm, but not that kind. 

“Derek?” Stiles asked, unsure if he heard what she said, or what he wanted to hear. 

“Yes,” the Diva answered slowly. “But he’s more fragile than he seems. He needs your help, and your love.” The Diva reached for his face, her long fingers sliding over his cheek like tendrils of silk, soft and tender. The Diva’s eyes widened in pain. It emanated from her like an icy wave of shock. “Or, she will die,” the Diva added breathlessly. 

Stiles knew pain, he understood it. Grasping how important these words were because they were the Diva’s last, Stiles panicked, “No, no, please, stay with me,” he begged the Diva. He grasped her shoulders and touched her face, but she was cold, too cold. He picked up her head and shook her gently. “No, you can't die, c’mon, listen to me!” Stiles demanded, not caring who heard him anymore. “Wake up!” Stiles said and she opened her eyes, bewildered and exhausted looking. “Where are the stones?” he pleaded. “Derek needs them, we need them. Please.” 

“The stones,” the Diva repeated, clutching her chest. 

“Yes, the stones, where are they?” Stiles asked, begging her to hold on for long enough to focus and tell him. 

“In me,” the Diva answered. Her head fell back and her eyes closed. A long, strained breath escaped past her lips and she was gone. 

She was gone. Only she knew where the stones were, and she was gone. 

“Stiles, Stiles, oh my god, there’s one coming,” Ruby whispered frantically as a Mangalore made his way down the aisle toward them. 

“Just gimme one minute--” Stiles asked as a horrifying thought crossed his mind. He didn't have time to finish it because a gun pressed into his back. Impatient and still full of adrenaline, Stiles grabbed the Mangalore by the arm and flipped him over as he took the gun from his hand. He landed square on his back and not on top of Ruby, thankfully. Stiles pressed the gun to the Mangalore’s forehead and sighed in relief. “I said gimme one minute.” Stiles glanced up at Ruby. “Here, hold this gun.” 

“What?” she asked in disbelief. 

“Just hold the gun right here,” Stiles said calmly. “Come on, put your hand right there,” Stiles lifted his hand but kept his finger on the trigger. 

“What do you want me to do?” Ruby asked nervously as she took the gun. 

“You got that. Just hold it there and pull the trigger if he moves,” Stiles instructed calmly. 

“I’m not--this isn’t--I’m not sure if this is a good idea, Stiles,” Ruby said shakily. 

Ruby was fine, she took the gun from his hand without any hesitation. She trusted Stiles even though he didn't give her any reason to. She was practically a soldier already. He had to tune Ruby out for a moment. The Diva said the stones were ‘in me’, but that didn't make any sense unless she meant literally. Once, years ago, Stiles had a hand in taking down a drug ring that enslaved aquatic aliens. On land, they could hide drugs inside the empty cavities they had all over their bodies. Underwater, the cavities were meant to add buoyancy so they could rise to the surface and swim with their deceptively dense bodies. The Diva definitely looked aquatic. 

Hoping his hunch wasn't wrong, praying he wasn't desecrating the body of one of the greatest voices in centuries, Stiles pressed his hand into the bullet wound in the Diva’s abdomen. The hard corner of a stone brushed against his fingers and he let out a short, relieved sigh. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it out. It was bigger than he expected, and carved with wavy lines like Derek’s tattoo and Lydia’s robes. 

“Ruby--” Stiles said, about to ask for help when the gun went off. 

Ruby gasped and jumped back in shock. The Mangalore was dead. A bullet hole cratered right in the dead center of his forehead. He was just a little proud of her, a little. It was an accident, he was sure of it. “Fuck,” Ruby cursed. “Fuck, I didn't mean to do that,” she apologized like she was disappointed in herself. “I’m usually better under pressure but--” 

“Ruby, he would have killed us. Don’t worry,” Stiles assured her as he laid out his tuxedo jacket. “Check and see if anyone is coming.” 

“Right, right,” Ruby nodded, surprisingly calm for someone with no experience. She listed off everything she could see in a whisper and Stiles realized she was still broadcasting. The little light on her headpiece was bright red. “Oh, my god, there's another one--no, there’s three. Three more Stiles. What do we do?” 

“Here, take these,” Stiles said as he pulled her back and shoved the stones in her arms. “You guard these with your life, and stay close to me, or you’re going to end up looking like this guy here. Green?” Stiles asked, holding the dead Mangalore’s forehead so Ruby had a clear view. 

“Green, green, super green,” Ruby agreed. 

“I’m going out first. When you hear the gunfire stop, come out carefully. Green?” Stiles asked. 

“Green, green,” Ruby nodded. Stiles took the gun off the floor and shot the three Mangalores before they had a chance to figure out where the bullets were coming from. “Wait, Stiles,” Ruby said. She ran a hand down the Diva’s face lovingly, and his heart broke for a moment. The world lost someone they could hardly afford to lose, and it was his fault. His chest felt like it was caving in and he couldn’t breathe. “My real name is Braeden Strong. Will you tell my mom what happened to me if--” 

“Trust me, you’ll be fine,” Stiles assured her. He was it, no one else was coming. He had to find Derek and get the stones back to earth. Ruby needed him just like every other soft hearted person screaming and scared to death. He couldn’t afford to feel anything, not when they needed him. He held out his hand and Ruby took it. "Follow me, always find me. Trust me and I'll protect you," Stiles promised. 

Newly determined, Ruby climbed to her feet and folded the jacket up tight, holding it to her chest like it was just as precious as Stiles suspected it was. Following him quietly. Ruby ducked behind the door to wait before he told her to. He was thankful she was smart, and sharp as hell. He slipped a few more guns off the dead Mangalores before nodded to her and rushed out the door. He started firing as soon as he saw big ears and scaly skin. He killed eleven of them before he had to jump off the balcony because they somehow brought in a fucking middle launcher. The internal security was abysmal, especially considering all the big names that were there in the hotel. Stiles was deeply disappointed. His comment card was going to be full. 

When he told Ruby to wait until she didn't hear anymore gunfire he didn't know about the missile launcher. The Mangalores stopped firing because they were planning on blowing him up. Stiles tried to see the concert hall doors, but was stuck in the middle of a freestanding drink bar, too far away. Ruby was going to come out any second and it wasn't safe yet, not even close. A missile blew up one end of the bar, raining flaming shrapnel down on him. Stiles tried to get Ray, the musician’s attention, but another missile hit the bar and he had to scramble to not get shot at. 

After scrambling back to what was left of the bar, Stiles looked up to see Ray crawling toward him with a look of determination on his face. He was so close to a gun, Stiles had hope for a second, but he forgot Ray was as deaf, and Stiles didn’t know sign language. Ray picked up two billiard balls and rolled them toward Stiles, unaware that Stiles had been pointing to a gun on the floor next to Ray, not the billiard balls. Stiles was alone in this. He had to trust Ruby would keep herself safe like he told her to. He already knew she was good at it, that had to be enough.

A Mangalore jumped up over the bar and Stiles held his hands up in surrender. The Mangalores had a strict code of conduct: they didn't shoot people who were surrendering, so he surrendered, just long enough to get close to the Mangalore and get him in a headlock. The Mangalore panicked and started firing. Stiles was used to doing what he needed to do, but twisting the guy around until he started firing at his own people was something Finger would give him shit for later, if he ever heard about it. Circus tricks, Finger called them, but when the Mangalore dropped to the ground with a snapped neck, Stiles felt okay about it. He took the guy's gun and shot the Mangalores behind the rocket launcher without any fanfare, just to balance things out a little. 

“Stiles! Stiles up here!” Ruby screamed right above him. He had to get her down before the next wave of Mangalores, and she wasn’t jumping. Not with the stones. Ruby peeked over the edge of the balcony as Stiles grabbed a radio activated grenade off the Mangalore corpse and set it to pick up the closest signal, which was Ruby’s headset. She had the stones in her arms still. Stiles could just see the edge of his jacket against her chest. “They’re coming what do I--?” she tried to ask. 

“Don’t move Ruby,” Stiles warned, loudly. He shot out the floor of the balcony around her, giving her a wide berth. The wood and plaster started to rattle and shake as the Mangalores got closer. Ruby screamed and the section of balcony she was laying on fell to the floor in front of him. “C’mon, you’re okay.” Stiles activated the grenade and threw it up on the balcony. “Count to ten,” he said to Ruby, then grabbed her shoulder and ushered her under a billiards table for cover. 

“Stiles, is that a bomb?” Ruby shrieked. 

“Count!” Stiles demanded as he pushed the billiards table away from the balcony, hoping they could get far enough away, and the wood and slate was thick enough to take the rain of bullets the Mangalores were definitely going to throw at them. 

Finally, Ruby started counting. Her voice activated the bomb and set the pace. It started clicking along with her count, ticking down the seconds as the Mangalore regrouped themselves and started firing at the moving billiards table. The explosion rocked the whole floor. Thankfully, the guests had gotten as far away from the missiles and gunfire as possible, but the Mangalores had run toward it, predictably. They were all dead, and the balcony was on fire, but they were alive and the stones were safe. 

“Come on, let’s go find the control room,” Stiles said as he grabbed Ruby’s arm and rushed toward a door that said ‘Staff Only’.

“I think it’s back here. We came down here when we first showed up to say hello to the captain,” Ruby said, following a well worn path on the floor that looked promising. 

A rain of gunfire sounded off down the hall and Ruby faltered, holding the stones to her chest tightly. Stiles needed her brave, he couldn’t have her losing focus now, they were so close. 

“Stay with me now,” Stiles instructed her. “Stay behind me, don't lose me,” he said, giving her easy things to hold on to. She needed hope, and Stiles was good at giving that to civilians in the middle of a crisis. He’d made a career out of it. Ruby nodded and followed, worried, but she had faith in him, that’s all he wanted. A sweaty, nervous, dark skinned man stood outside the control room door fighting with a jammed gun. He looked at Stiles with wide, terrified eyes as they approached. “You in charge?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah,” the man nodded nervously.  
“What’s your name?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeoman Hewitt,” he stammered. “Mason, my name is Mason,” he said frantically. 

“How many of them are in there, Mason?” Stiles asked. 

“I, uh--” Mason stared at him with wide eyes, dumbfound by the question. He was a good sailor, but he wasn’t a soldier. 

“Why don't I look?” Stiles offered. 

“Alright,” Mason nodded, relieved someone else was willing to step up. 

Peeking around the corner, Stiles caught twelve hulking, grey forms. “Seven on the left, five on the right.” He said for himself mostly, forming a plan in his mind. He peeked around the corner again and shot where he remembered them being. Predictably, they hadn't moved. “Four on the right, two on the left,” he said as he fell back against the wall next to Mason. 

“We need to find the leader,” Stiles said to Mason. “Mangalores won't fight without the leader.” 

“One more shot and we start killing hostages,” a deep Mangalore voice announced. 

“That’s the leader,” Stiles informed Mason. 

“Send someone to negotiate,” the Mangalore demanded. 

“You wanna go?” Stiles asked him. 

“I’ve never--no,” Mason said shakily. 

“You mind if I--?” 

“No, sure, sure,” Mason agreed. “We’re sending someone in to negotiate!” he announced loudly so the Mangalores could hear. 

Counting off the half seconds in his head, Stiles tucked the gun behind his back and walked into the room briskly, like he was angry and determined to be heard. He raised the gun and shot the leader in the head before he noticed the Mangalore leader was holding the priest, Father Lydia, hostage. 

“Anyone else want to negotiate?” Stiles asked with the barrel of his gun mostly. The other Mangalores froze in place or went to their fallen leaders side, lost without instruction or a reason to keep fighting. 

The room fell to pieces for a moment while the security officers swooped in and took the rest of the leaderless Mangalores hostage. Ruby was okay, Mason looked relieved, and Stiles needed to find Derek. 

“Negotiate...” Lydia laughed, but she was sweating, anxious and shaking. She rubbed her forehead like she was all too aware of how close the bullet came to her head. “I suppose you do that sort of thing all the time?” she asked nervously. 

“No, Father, just when you’re around,” Stiles grinned, thankful she was alive. 

“Funny,” Lydia smiled back. 

“Where are the security monitors?” Stiles asked the closest man in uniform. The Uniform took him right to the monitors without question, then showed him how to change the channels to see into all the rooms and left to help the injured. “Derek, where are you?” Stiles muttered to himself as he flipped through the monitors around his suite and the ones that survived around the concert hall. 

“I know you must be really angry with me,” Lydia said behind him, wringing her hands while she spoke. “But I want you to know I am fighting for a noble cause.” 

“Yeah, I know, you’re trying to save the world, I remember,” Stiles said, unwilling to take his eyes off the security monitors. “Right now I’m trying to save Derek, Father.” 

“Derek’s in trouble?” Lydia asked, suddenly concerned, her eyes fixed on the monitors as well. 

“When is Derek not in trouble?” Stiles muttered as he flipped through the monitors closest to the Diva’s suites. “There, right there.” Stiles tapped on the screen, pointing to a long, white arm hanging from the ceiling. Stiles could just barely make out the tattoos on his wrist. 

Running as fast as he could, Stiles rushed far ahead of Lydia and Ruby. Much to Ruby’s credit she kept up with him, even after the immediate danger had passed, determined to carry the stones and keep them safe like Stiles had asked her to. The Diva’s suite was wrecked, full of bullet holes and littered with the dead bodies of Mangalores. 

“Derek, Derek!” Stiles shouted, hoping Derek would respond, that he was still alive. The arm hanging from the ceiling was limp. “How the hell did you get yourself in this position?” Stiles muttered as he jumped up on the piano and pulled Derek down, choosing to believe he was alive until proved otherwise. Stiles could barely hold onto his huge shoulders as he fell out of the ventilation shaft and slipped down to the piano. “Derek, c’mon,” Stiles demanded. He jumped down and pulled Derek close to the edge of the piano to look him over. His eyes opened, but they darted around the room wildly. He was trembling and cold, like he was sick. 

“Take it easy,” Stiles warned as Derek reached out for him. “I got the stones. I got them, it’s okay,” Stiles assured him. 

“Stiles is this a--?” Ruby started to ask. Lydia came bursting into the room right behind him and stopped abruptly, her eyes fixed on whatever Ruby was pointing at. “What is that? Is it a--?”

“No, no way. All these big hotels have bomb detectors and--” Ruby stopped and looked at him as the buzzing alarm of the bomb detectors finally went off. Stiles and Lydia traded places without discussion. He let Derek’s hand go when Lydia took it, and went to look at the tiny, red flashing numbers Ruby’s eyes were fixed on. “Stiles, my man, you know how to--you know?” Ruby asked desperately. 

“No, no I don’t. Not this one,” Stiles said as he looked the technology over. Parts of it looked ancient, but the rest was tech he had never seen before. “We gotta go, now,” Stiles commanded. 

There was no argument from anyone, especially Lydia as she helped Stiles throw Derek over his shoulder again. It wasn’t the first time he had to carry out a fallen soldier, but it was the first time he wished they could trade places. He would give anything to be the one Derek was hauling out of there. One look around the room at all the devastation, it was easy to see Derek was far better at it than Stiles was. That surprised him, but it also meant they needed him. 

“Little bit of deja vu, huh Father?” Stiles tried to laugh as Lydia held onto Derek’s bouncing head, trying to keep up. Stiles glanced over at her, expecting a dark, unhappy look for the reminder, but she was scared, too scared to be anything else. “We’ll be okay,” Stiles assured her as they traveled down to the flight bay floors in the elevator. “There’s always a few shuttles in the bays of these big resort hotels, that’s where we’re going. I’m going to get us out of here,” he promised. 

“Not the escape pods?” Ruby asked. 

“No, we can't control those. We’d be stuck on it with god knows who. No defenses, no engines, just floating in space waiting to be rescued like a giant target,” Stiles explained. “No, we take my way out. We fly, we live,” he assured them. 

“Thank God,” Lydia muttered as the elevator slowed to a stop. She burst out ahead of him and held the door open to the flight bay. The soothing robotic voice told them they had less than a minute to get out, but like some kind of miracle there was a space fighter sitting right in front of the doors waiting for them. “Argent,” Lydia hissed, pointing to the green light illuminating the docking ramp. 

“Sounds about right,” Stiles agreed. Argent probably left the bomb as well. She was somewhere on the boat, but he had everything she wanted, and she was going to be dead in less than a minute. She wasn’t going to need her brand new X-wing, stealth and light speed capable with a ton of firepower. It could have sensor traps, but it was the only bird capable of getting them out of the blast radius, if they were lucky. So far, luck was an understatement. “We’re taking it,” he decided. If they didn’t risk it, they were dead anyways. 

They followed him without questions because they didn’t know about things like sensor traps. Neither Father Lydia or the great Ruby Rhod had any reason to suspect they might not make it past igniting the engines. Stiles’ gut lurched as he dropped Derek on one of the beds behind the cockpit and ran straight for the captain's chair. He looked it all over, telling himself it couldn’t be boobie trapped because it was all unlocked. Argent would never leave it unlocked with the traps rigged. She was in a hurry, and if anyone tried to steal it, she would lose her only way out for sure. No one smart enough to design half this tech would be dumb enough to do that. 

“Stiles, my man, you know how to fly this thing?” Ruby asked as he flipped on the internal controls and sensors, then primed the engine. He relaxed a little when the engines fired up and started gaining momentum. The familiar whine of the thrusters picking up speed was like music to his ears. 

“Just like driving a cab,” Stiles said calmly. 

It was a joke, but Ruby didn’t know that. “But what about the door?” she asked, pointing to the sealed flight deck doors. 

Initializing the weapons system was the last test. Stiles hit the button and the controls slid into place effortlessly. It wasn’t rigged to explode or shut down if Argent wasn’t driving. Or if it was, she never set the traps when she left. Two blasts with the laser lit up the flight deck like fire works. They weren’t made to be fired around so much oxygen, but they did the job close range well enough. The door sucked out into space and they took off through it. 

High speed shrapnel from the resort exploding, and the last of the oxygen igniting, chased them out into space, but none of it collided with them hard enough to cause significant damage. Stiles watched the flash flame hit the back end of the space fighter. It was nothing compared to the plasma heat coming off the engines though. Still, Ruby looked worried as she clung to the captain's chair, until they picked up enough speed to turn the engines turned off. Then it was nothing but the quiet calm of space, and a the sound of people, like they were all used to. 

They were headed back to earth, but Stiles doubted Ruby knew that. She trusted him enough not to ask as she fell back in the navigator's seat behind him and sighed. “Beautiful listeners, it’s now seven pm and time for the news. See you tomorrow for a new adventure.” 

“End of transmission,” a voice called out from Ruby’s headset. The red light went dim and she fell back in the seat, looking exhausted. 

“That’s the best show I’ve ever done,” Ruby said quietly. 

Watching her in the rear view mirror, Stiles smiled a little, wondering if her offline personality was a little more relatable. She came through. She deserved a win. Part of him was so happy and relieved he thought about congratulating her on what was sure to be the most talked about show of her career, but the transmitter on the ship flashed in a familiar pattern, letting Stiles know someone important wanted him to open communications. Stiles took a risk opening the line, but it was his dad’s call signal. He had to answer. 

“Stiles, I know you’re on that bird. I was listening to the show,” his dad said gruffly on the other end. 

“Hey, dad,” Stiles grinned, more relieved to hear his voice than he could begin to describe. 

“Is The Fifth Element alive?” he asked, being a General first. 

“Yes, he’s alive. I think he was hit by poisoned bullets, but he’s tough,” Stiles said as Lydia looked up at him, alarmed. She pulled down a different medical kit from the open cupboard above Derek, but she looked like she knew what she was doing. “I think he’s going to be okay,” Stiles assured him. 

“Neither you or I could survive Argent’s poisoned bullets, son. That’s why they’re illegal,” his dad reminded him gravely. 

“He’s not human, dad. He’s better,” Stiles smiled, overwhelmed by a strange wave of emotion that almost felt like happiness. “He’ll be okay.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, son.” 

“Stiles, I--” Lydia started to say before something crashed to the ground behind him. 

“Do you know how to do that?” Stiles asked Lydia. 

“Yes, in theory, not in practice,” she answered nervously. 

“I’ve got it,” Stiles assured her. “Dad, will you talk Father Lydia through setting the coordinates?” Stiles asked. 

“Of course, son, go do your job,” his dad said in that same, gruff voice, but Stiles was sure there was a room full of people like the President listening in. They didn’t have room for sentimentality when they were saving lives. 

Stiles pointed at the controls quickly, telling Lydia exactly which ones were for navigation, then he slipped away to take care of Derek. He kept one ear on them, but Ruby was watching over Lydia closely as well. They were smart enough to do it right. He settled down next to Derek, letting himself cringe at all the blood. Stiles pulled his shirt up, exposing the worst of his wounds. It was already half healed over. He pressed on Derek’s dense muscles and his eyes opened. He turned to look at Stiles, but Stiles wasn’t sure if he could really see anything. His pupils weren’t responding to the light. 

“Can you hear me, Derek?” 

“Stiles,” he said softly. His tongue was thick in his mouth, and he was sweating. He was dehydrated. 

“I’m going to take care of you. Just tell me if it hurts, okay?” Stiles asked, but Derek didn’t respond. 

He didn’t move when Stiles started intravenous fluids, and he didn’t flinch when he pulled the first bullet out of Derek’s arm. It was easy, the edge was still close to the skin. Stiles could see the wound easily. He flushed it out with the saline packs in the first aid kit and pulled the multi tool he kept in his back pocket out to dig out the one in Derek’s ribs. Stiles still didn’t get much of a response until he pulled hard to dislodge the bullet and Derek gasped. 

“One more,” Stiles assured him. 

The last one was close to the skin of his shoulder, almost poking out. It was like it had been lodged in the bone, but Derek’s body was pushing it out. Stiles wondered if Derek would have been okay even if he didn’t do anything. When he was done flushing the last wound out he looked up to check on Derek, but he was already watching Stiles work. His eyes were clear and following Stiles silently. Stiles felt like he had been caught, like maybe he needed Derek’s permission to touch him still. He smiled up at Stiles, soft and tired. For a moment Stiles wished they were alone, so they could talk, or not. Looking down at Derek, he was sure he would take just about anything. 

“Is he okay?” Ruby asked. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said quickly. He smiled down at Derek and got out of the way. He knew Lydia would be eager to be back at Derek’s side, and Stiles wasn’t going to get in her way. “He’s going to be fine,” Stiles assured them. 

The radio was silent when he went back to the pilot’s seat. The controls looked perfect, and the navigation was set to Earth, then somewhere in Egypt. Satellite imagery put them right on top of a pyramid. Lydia said it was a temple, Stiles was sure that counted. When he was sure they were squared away, and there wasn’t going to be any surprises as they approached earth, Stiles put the space fighter on autopilot and went back to assess the rest of the damage while Lydia stared at the mysterious stones. 

The moment he entered the sleeping quarters Derek sat up a little. Stiles held out a hand and motioned for him to lay back down. At least Lydia had bandaged him up, but the brutal wrap job she did on Derek’s arm didn’t look comfortable. Stiles sat down next to him and peeled it off slowly. Derek’s eyes stayed fixed on Stiles like he wanted to say something. Stiles worked on wrapping him up, but didn’t say anything for a long while in hopes Derek would speak first. When he didn’t, Stiles did what he was best at, and said exactly what was on his mind. 

“The diva said I should take care of you.” 

Derek let out a short painful sigh and looked up at the ceiling. Of course it was the wrong thing to say, if there was a right thing. Stiles wasn’t sure. Derek was obviously thinking about the Diva Ally, and his expression was nothing short of pain. He knew she was dead, maybe he felt responsible. Stiles understood, he felt the same way.


	26. Dutifully, Yours

The coldness in his chest had nothing to do with his injuries. It was fear. A strange kind of fear Derek didn’t understand. Whatever it was, Stiles was at the center of it. Derek wanted to touch him, feel his skin under his fingers, and love him in a way maybe Derek wasn’t allowed to. He had a purpose, he was the element of life made flesh, he was a weapon. There was no room for Stiles in the middle of a war, at least not until it was all over, but everything Derek had when he started was gone. There was no reason for him to believe any of them would survive. 

The thought of losing Stiles hurt, like someone was squeezing his heart with an angry hand, but Stiles knew what he was risking, they all did, and they fought anyways. Especially Stiles. When Derek failed, Stiles saved him. When Lydia needed him, Stiles showed up. When Ruby was in danger, Stiles picked her up, inspired her, and turned her into a warrior. Derek was the one who was supposed to be saving them and inspiring others to fight with him, but Stiles was better at it. He wasn’t born into this world, or shaped by it, but Stiles was. Maybe five thousand years was too long. Maybe the next time he came there wouldn’t be anyone left to save. 

The safety and security of the Mondoshawans was gone. Destroyed by the person who built the ship that was taking them to the temple. A ship built for war, that Stiles knew how to use because he was also built for war. The Diva Ally, soft, strong and wise, killed by the same people who took the Mondoshawans from Derek. Her loss was a gaping hole in his chest. She was good, she only wanted to protect life, like Derek. She knew the risks, but Derek had been so sure he could protect her. When it happened, he wasn't even there, Stiles was. Derek was waiting in the hallway, doing as he was told. 

Everything around Derek was different, more severe and utilitarian. Built for one purpose and one purpose only, to win at war. Stiles only knew half of it, and the half he knew terrified him enough to shoot first and ask questions later. He lived waiting for war, even when he was at peace. Lydia knew most of it, but Derek could see death waiting behind her eyes. She had hope, but she was far from certain. She was the product of violence even though she seemed so peaceful and safe. She expected war, waited for it, saw it as inevitable. 

Derek was not succeeding because they were all hanging by a thread. The filmy sliver of hope they would make it to the temple without anyone else bringing war down on their heads, and for what? Derek was trying to save them, and all they seemed to want to do was kill him. Not all life was intelligent enough to understand. That was why he was a secret, but the people they kept the secret from seemed willing to be brutal and violent in the name of their cause without question. The human’s especially seemed to be fixated by pleasure and violence, with nothing in between. 

“Humans are strange,” Derek muttered as Stiles pressed a cloth to his bleeding arm. 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, stopping to look at Derek as he spoke. 

“Everything you create, you use to destroy.” Pain bloomed in Derek’s chest as the words left his mouth, but Stiles did not seem surprised by them. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, sounding regretful and hopeless. “We call it human nature. Have you read about that on the screens?”

“I’m not finished yet,” Derek said, swallowing hard to push back the tightness in his throat. “I’m up to V,” he added because the sadness in Stiles’ eyes begged Derek to not give up on him. 

Stiles smiled softly, but the sadness stayed. “V is good. There are some very good words in V.”

In the midst of everything he should be concerned about, all Derek could think when he looked at Stiles was how beautiful he was, and how much he wanted a reason to touch him. Derek reached over and covered Stiles’ hand with his own, ignoring the pain it caused and the look of concern Stiles gave him. He wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ hand and gently trailed his thumb over Stiles’ rough knuckles, hoping to soothe some of the concern away. 

“Like what?” Derek asked. 

Leaning closer, Stiles drew in a long, slow breath and fixed his attention on Derek’s hand for a moment. A hopeful look replaced the sadness, and Derek smiled, sure he had accomplished something great, even though the gesture was small. 

“Valiant,” Stiles said with a soft smile, his eyes still fixed on Derek’s slow moving fingers. “Vulnerable.” Stiles held his breath for a moment, then sighed and looked up at Derek, his expression suddenly calm and unafraid. “Very beautiful,” he added, proving he had chosen words meant to compliment Derek. He wanted Derek to know he was all those things to Stiles. 

The words took the edge off the pain in his chest, but replaced it with a feeling like urgency and need. He wanted to say more, or do something to show Stiles he felt the same way, but he didn’t want to lose sight of his mission. He could feel himself being swept away, his feelings for Stiles overpowering his single minded dedication to succeed. Stiles seemed to understand more than Derek thought he did. He proved it when he leaned in and pressed his lips to the back of Derek’s hand, quick and warm. Then moved to fix the bandages on Derek’s arm, quickly putting himself back to work. 

It was impossible to not smile then, such a blatant act of tenderness from someone like Stiles had to mean Derek was special. Stiles had to feel the same way about him that he felt about Stiles. It was real in every long look Stiles gave him, and every lingering touch of his hands. Every time Stiles risked everything to help Derek accomplish what he had come back for, he proved how deep his feelings were. Stiles didn’t fight for his community anymore, he fought for Derek. He inspired Stiles, and maybe Stiles was only one man, but Derek hardly needed an army when he had Stiles. 

When Stiles was done with him he picked up another saline pack and went to work on his own arm, but Derek stopped him. “Let me,” he said. 

“See how you feel before you make me any promises,” he said with a smile in his eyes. Derek sat up, but he immediately felt queasy and weak. “Let’s be a little smarter about this, okay?” Stiles pressed him back down into the bed and handed him a roll of gauze to undo. 

He watched Stiles work, cleaning and scrubbing out the long tear in his skin. Derek assumed it was a bullet wound, but Stiles picked out a sliver of wood and threw it in the trash before he held his freshly cleaned arm out for Derek. He sat still, watching Derek as he unrolled the bandage over his arm the same way Stiles had done for him. His fingers lingered around Stiles’ shoulder, trailing softly and curiously over his skin. Stiles smiled and pushed a shaky hand through his hair like he was nervous. 

“Here, the other one,” Stiles said quickly, grabbing another bandage for his other arm. “Thank you,” he said as he pressed the bandage into Derek’s waiting hand. 

Curious why Stiles was suddenly so nervous, Derek unrolled the bandage over his other arm carefully, watching his fingers closely as he avoided bruises and what was obviously a bullet graze. Stiles was looking at him the same way he looked at Derek in the cab, when they first met. His eyes were soft, happy, like he was on the brink of smiling, and Derek was the one who put it there. He finished off the bandage, running his hand across the gauze sleeve to smooth it out, just like the other one. This time though Stiles leaned in close and watched Derek’s hands until they moved past the bandage and over his shoulder. Derek’s fingers slid softly over his skin in a way he hoped made his intentions clear. 

All he had left to do was ask. “Derek, can I--?” 

The door burst open, reluctantly demanding his attention when Lydia burst through. “Stiles, the General, from before, is on the coms for you,” she said nervously. 

“It’s just my dad,” Stiles assured her, immediately climbing to his feet, ignoring Derek as his hand slid away from Stiles’ shoulder. 

“He says the president wants to talk to you,” Lydia said frantically as she motioned to the cockpit. 

Stiles left him alone. Dutifully, going to speak to his people.


	27. A Soldier, A Weapon, and A Promise

More than a little annoyed, Stiles took the com device from Ruby and went to the closest passenger seat. Lydia was fretting over Derek’s new and better bandages, sure they weren’t enough because she didn't understand how compression technology worked. Derek assured her he was fine, and Stiles forced himself to look away and answer his father. 

“Yeah, Dad, I’m here,” he said into the com. 

“The president wants to speak to you son,” his dad said in a tone of voice that said ‘fuck up and I’ll make your life miserable’. 

“I’ll be good,” Stiles muttered reluctantly. He tuned out for a moment as the president rambled out a long, diplomatic greeting. He kept an eye on Lydia, thankful she finally backed off after she helped Derek get comfortable sitting up. Derek’s eyes were fixed on him still. He wanted up so they could see each other. He smiled and got a brilliant smile in return. That made him extra brave. Some would say cocky, but Stiles liked the sound of brave better. “Mr. President, any chance you’ll be getting to the point sometime soon?” Stiles asked. 

A long sigh that sounded a whole lot like his father proved he was still live on the line. Stiles was sure he was going to pay for that one later, but he didn’t care, not when whatever was coming was bound to be horrible news. They got to the good news right away. He savored the last few seconds of Derek’s smile as President Boyd thought about what he was going to say. 

“Alright,” Boyd finally said. “There’s a ball of fire approximately 1200 miles in diameter headed straight for earth and we have no idea how to stop it. That’s the problem.” 

Of course it was. It was the most horrible, fucked up thing Stiles could possibly imagine, but a lot of fucked up things had happened since Derek was dropped in his lap. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was there to save the world. It made sense finally, but Stiles was scared. Really scared, for the first time in a very long time. A weapon had to have something to aim at, and it was heading to the temple just the same as they were. Showdown at the OK corral and Derek was the gun. How that gun worked was a big fucking mystery, but war only worked so many ways. Stiles didn’t like it, and he had no idea how they were going to survive it, but he was going to. He had to, for Derek, even if he didn’t make it out alive. 

“How much time do we have?” Stiles asked. 

“If it’s speed remains constant, in an hour and fifty seven minutes,” a voice that did not belong to the president said.

“I’ll call you back in two hours,” Stiles said, then handed the com device to Lydia, who hung up on the president trying to find the button to speak. “We’ll have to jump into Earth’s territory and hope they're smart enough to have cleared space by then,” Stiles muttered. 

“They will, they know now to get out of our way,” Lydia assured him, looking for courage. 

Courage was something he knew how to give her, but he had to stay focused and sharp. He glanced over at Derek, taking a deep breath as he took one last look at the man he was sure he was totally, and completely in love with. He couldn’t afford to think about him that way anymore, not if he wanted Derek to do his job and survive. Derek was powerful, a soldier, a weapon, and he was going to save the world, no matter what. It was the only chance they had.


	28. Who Decides Who Lives and Who Dies?

Everyone was talking strategy in the cockpit except Derek. The people Stiles answered to referred to Derek like he was a weapon, inanimate, useful, but ultimately only an asset, and for some reason, Stiles was doing the same. It only took a few minutes of discussion before they were all referring to Derek as the fifth element, like he wasn't himself, like he only had one purpose, and they owed him nothing. They didn’t ask him what he thought, or even look at him. Derek still felt sick from the poison, so they left him alone, but the more he listened to them talk, the sicker he felt. 

 

When Lydia started arguing with Stiles he said he needed some sleep. For a moment Derek was hopeful Stiles was going to join him, maybe he was only using it as an excuse to talk to Derek, but he went to the captain's chair instead. Disappointment settled over Derek like a heavy breathless sort of feeling that made his chest and throat feel tight, but his sense of duty and self preservation told him wallow in it. He turned over and accessed the entertainment screen above his bed. It was nearly identical to the one on the ship that took them to the resort, but it looked more sophisticated. 

Curious, but driven by new feelings and new information, Derek went straight for the most loaded word he learned from the dictionary besides love: war. The last five thousand years of violence paraded in front of his eyes in the form of censored photographs and stories that told half truths. He had to imagine the rest, but it was easy to fill in the gaps after seeing how these humans treated life. The history of just the small planet of Earth was disturbing, and they were some of the most peaceful, intelligent lives in the universe. Derek was hurt, broken and demoralized. He was no longer sure what kind of life he was fighting for. 

The sound of Lydia shuffling toward the sleeping quarters forced Derek to sit up and press the lock button. The door between them shut, and she was far too short to see inside. They could probably get in if they were determined, but Derek hoped she took the hint and left him alone. The suffocating void in his chest was overwhelming. He didn’t want to lash out at Lydia, but he also despised her. She believed Derek was their salvation. The fifth element, the key to life and the destruction of evil. But they were evil. Maybe when he stood on the dais and called the elements to himself they would all be the ones who died. 

Perhaps that was his true test, falling in love with war itself, then having to sacrifice what he loved for the sake of the innocent. But who was innocent and who was not? Who would survive and who wouldn’t? Derek had always known the answer to that: those who loved would survive, but Derek was unsure if he was even capable of it, if any of them were, especially Stiles. They were both warriors, and weapons. Maybe neither of them had a right to live.


	29. I Already Miss You

“Derek, we’re here,” Stiles said softly, shaking his shoulder to wake him up. They needed to hurry so Stiles pulled on his shoulder when he didn’t respond. Derek’s eyes were red and his nose was wet like he had been crying. He was supposed to be sleeping, gaining his strength, but he looked half dead, and despondent. Stiles should have checked on him, or talked to him, but he thought he was doing the right thing letting Derek rest. Stiles grabbed his shoulders and pulled Derek up, quickly checking his back again for a bullet he missed, maybe. “Don’t, don't do this now,” Stiles said, feeling the panic rise in his chest. “We have to go. I don’t know if I can carry you again, just--” 

“No, help me,” Derek said quietly. Stiles did as he asked and helped him to his feet, then threw Derek’s arm over his shoulder. He gripped Derek’s forearm tight to hold most of his weight. 

They made it out of the ship and down the ramp, running across the loose sand awkwardly. As soon as they entered the temple Derek’s head dropped forward and Ruby rushed to take his other side. Stiles didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he needed to find out in the next five minutes, or they were all dead. Ruby grabbed his waist and steadied him as they followed the line of luminescent flags Jordan had used to light their path. 

“Thank you Jordan, thank you,” Lydia said breathlessly as she ran ahead to meet him in the hall. The path opened to a large room and Lydia pointed to the dais in the center. “Put him down there,” she commanded. 

Both Stiles and Ruby rushed Derek to the dais, but Ruby let him go, stepping back as Stiles lowered Derek to the ground. Derek opened his eyes, but he didn’t look at Stiles, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling. They didn't have time for Stiles to make sure Derek was okay yet. He was alive, and that had to be enough for the moment. Reluctantly, he took a step back and went to Lydia as she unwrapped the stones and held one up. 

“You got it figured out Father?” Stiles asked impatiently. 

“This one...” Lydia pushed the stone toward him. “This one should be fire.” 

Should wasn’t the kind of word someone used when they knew what they were doing. 

“Wait, you don’t know how all this works?” Stiles asked.

“Theoretically, yes.” 

“Theoretically?” Stiles cursed. 

“Yes! The four stones go around, the fifth element should be in the middle. Then the weapon against evil should work,” Lydia recited like she had memorized the facts, but didn’t know any more than that. 

“You’ve never seen this work before, have you?” Stiles asked, giving her a hard look. This was something he would have like to know before they got there. He was a weapons expert, he could have figured it out and been prepared. A stupid fucking assumption was going to mean the end of all life in the universe. His fucking assumption. 

“No,” Lydia admitted with a small, apologetic voice. 

“Fuck,” Stiles cursed again. He took the stone from Lydia’s hand and went to the pillars. “Every weapon has a manual,” he said, hoping they were all paying attention. He inspected the pillar, but Stiles didn't see anything but dust and sand, so he started brushing it away. The center had a place for the stone and lines in the same pattern. He held up the one in his hand but it didn’t match. He handed it back to Lydia and took the one that did. When he put it in place the stone attached to the pillar like they were magnets, made for each other. “That’s it, match up the symbols,” Stiles directed. 

Lydia and Jordan ran away with the rest of the stones but Ruby slid up next to him, eyeing the stone curiously, “Stiles, what’s going on?” she asked nervously. 

“Just trying to keep you in the DJ business,” Stiles said as he inspected the stone, looking for any changes or markings that might tell him something more. Nothing changed, nothing moved. There was a good possibility it wouldn’t until all of them were in place though. He and Ruby watched intently, but neither of them said a word until Lydia came rushing back. 

“Okay, it’s done,” she said. 

“So what happens now?” Stiles asked. 

“Now we have to--” Lydia motioned at the stones anxiously. “We have to open them.” 

“And you know how to do that, right?” Stiles asked, already sure the answer was no. 

“Theoretically.” Lydia stared at the stone, her eyebrows drawn down like she might suddenly see something Stiles hadn’t. “No,” she admitted finally. 

Of course, it was up to him. It had been he and Derek from the beginning. But Derek was out of commission, so it was his show now, entirely. Lydia was book learned, but he was battle tested. He could do this, he just had to figure out how. He had nothing. A heavy, dark feeling of foreboding swept over him and settled in his chest, taking away the only thing he had left, his calm. He wished Derek was there next to him, not a bunch of squints. “Derek,” Stiles muttered, realizing he still knew far more than Stiles did, and Stiles was sure no matter how bad Derek felt, he could get him to talk. 

Rushing back to the dais, Stiles grabbed Derek, shaking him awake brutally as he lifted him up by the shoulders. “Come on Derek, wake up. We need you.” Stiles grabbed his face, demanding his attention as Derek’s eyes opened and focused on him. “Derek, how do you open these stones?” 

Drawing in a sharp breath, Stiles realized Derek was feeling the same pang of dread and fear that coursed through him, but it was probably a lot stronger. It was like a predator bearing down on him, chasing him, and he knew he was about to die. It had to be the thing they were fighting, the evil was getting closer, and it wasn't just a ball of fire. It was something real, menacing and violent. It wanted to destroy them. It hated them, hated Derek, and they were all feeling it. Stiles forced himself to ignore it and concentrated on Derek, hoping he could do the same. 

Derek’s hand reached up for him, sliding over his shoulder where he had touched Stiles before. His hand traveled further, circling Stiles neck as he came back, keeping his eyes fixed on Stiles’ like they were his lifeline. “Wind blows, fire burns,” he said softly. His eyes pleaded with Stiles for help, but he wasn’t making any sense. 

“Yes, yes I know all that, but how do you open these stones?” Stiles pressed. 

“Rain falls...” Derek opened his mouth like he was going to say more but fear and pain twisted in Stiles chest unnaturally, and Derek’s head fell back. He was out again and Stiles was alone. 

Totally alone. Everyone around him thought he had the answers. Despair twisted in his gut, but he knew it wasn't him, it was the presence bearing down on them. Stiles had learned to turn off those desperate feelings of despair years ago. Nothing shook him, nothing scared him. He was one of the greatest soldiers in the world. Knowing that, counting on it, lead him through more battles than he ever cared to remember. Derek had to be telling him something. He wouldn’t waste his words, what he said had to matter. 

“What does it mean?” Stiles asked Lydia. 

“I think that, um...” Lydia stopped, her eyes fixed on Derek like thinking hard enough at him could bring him back to the present. 

She was confused, scared and anxious, but she didn’t seem to be affected by the evil the same way Stiles was. Neither was Ruby, or Jordan. It didn’t make any sense. Stiles wasn’t special like Derek. He just got caught up in all of it on accident, unless that didn’t matter. In war it didn’t matter who your battle buddy was, as long as you were fighting the same fight, you were in it together. Fused, inseparable, until one of you died, or the fight was over. 

“Maybe it’s symbolic, like a game?” Ruby asked. She sounded so fucking flippant. 

Rage and frustration boiled in Stiles’ chest. He reached out and grabbed Ruby’s frayed velvet catsuit by the fluffy rose collar and pulled her close. She stumbled forward but she looked more angry than scared. “If we don't get these stones open in five minutes we’re all dead,” he hissed. 

“Dead?” she exclaimed, surprised, like she hadn’t been there for the last two hours of conversation. 

“Yes, dead!” he shouted back, pushing her away gracelessly. 

None of them were affected like he was and he couldn’t stop thinking about it for long enough to look at the room around him. Fear and rage singed and burned his insides, making his stomach hurt. He wanted to rage against someone, hurt something, but he couldn’t. The world needed him, Derek needed him. Stiles rushed back to the stones. He tested and pressed every surface he could find. Lydia, Ruby and Jordan followed his example, desperately looking for anything. 

Real, primal fear finally focused his mind to a pin point as the sky outside the temple went dark. The rage fell away, leaving Stiles alone with the cold bitter sensation in his chest he fought a lifetime to pretend didn’t exist. He looked around the room, realizing the whole thing was a weapon to fight evil, but the elements made the evil too. It was alive just like they were, but it was full of hate. The only difference was Derek. His heart, his soul, his love. All the hairs stood up on the back of his neck as the complex parts of the room unfolded in front of him. He knew exactly how it was going to work, he just had to arm the thing and pull the trigger. 

“Stiles!” Jordan shouted. “It moved!” Jordan took a step back as Stiles rushed to his side, giving him space to inspect the stone. 

Small sections had fallen open on the top of the stone. It was open, just like Lydia had described. “What did you do?” Stiles demanded, dragging Jordan back to his spot roughly. “Show me what you did.” 

“I didn’t do anything!” Jordan protested. 

Ruby and Lydia started shouting at him, but Stiles grabbed the front of Jordan’s robes, demanding his attention. “Just calm down, take me through it step by step.” Stiles forced himself to be calm, for all of their sakes. 

Fear was like an old friend, riding a bicycle, or swimming. It took Stiles a moment to deal with it again, but he was ready to use the energy to his benefit. He was sharp and intently focused as he waited for Jordan to situate himself and talk them through it. 

“I was standing just like this and I put my hands on the top like this,” Jordan showed them. “Then I said, ‘we’re not gonna make it’.” 

They all waited, holding their breath for a moment but nothing happened. 

“That’s it?” Stiles asked.

Jordan nodded, his eyes sad and anxious as he scanned the stone for something, anything. Jordan sighed, long and hopeless, when nothing happened still. 

When the stone moved they all went silent again. Stiles pushed Jordan out of the way, concentrating on what had just taken place. Disappointment, in himself for taking so long to understand, then the thrill of epiphany crashed into him as the pieces fell into place. “Wind,” Stiles repeated. “He said wind blows.” 

Playing out his hunch, Stiles leaned closer and blew softly on the stone. It lit up with yellow sparks and light, coming to life before his eyes just like he imagined it would. The light burst out and a column of energy appeared. It was charging up. 

“Everyone take a stone,” Stiles instructed. “Water for water, fire for fire, earth for earth. Go!” 

They all rushed, scrambling to the stones as they spread out around the dais. The sound of stones coming to life, the energy vibrating in the air around him was such a huge relief Stiles wanted to throw himself of the dais and celebrate with Derek, but he was still so sick with the evil nearby he was shivering. His eyes were fixed on the dying light coming through the ceiling like he knew it was almost the end. Stiles felt it too, but he couldn’t give in. He’d survived worse. That was a lie, but it was a good enough one to keep him going. 

“Stiles, my man,” Ruby called out to him. “Stiles, I have no fire! I don’t have any matches. I’m trying to quit. Does anyone have any matches?” 

Running across the dais, struggling with the compulsion to stop and assure Derek they were going to make it, he rushed to Ruby’s side. He had a box of matches in his pocket. He put them back in his pocket when he found the regulation ‘street clothes’ under the bed and changed out of his shredded tuxedo. It felt empty, but he kept it, just in case. 

“Father do you smoke?” Ruby asked Lydia desperately. Lydia shook her head and Ruby covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my god, we’re all going to die.” 

Pulling out the box, Stiles shook it, hoping beyond hope to hear something. A single match rattled back at him. He took it out and held it up. Everyone’s eyes fixed on it, understanding how important it was. “Don’t breathe,” Stiles muttered as he struck the match on the side of the box. It flared to life in his hand and everyone took a step back. 

The dead silence around him was unnerving as the flame flickered and everyone drew in a sharp breath. The match flamed on and Stiles touched it carefully to the stone. He drew back as it burst to life and the red light charged up the ephemeral looking column of sparks. 

That was it, the stones were all open, but nothing had happened to Derek. If the stones had to be woken up, maybe Derek did to. Stiles picked him up by the shoulders again, but this time he didn’t stop there. He struggled to get Derek to his feet, cursing the few extra pounds Derek had on him, grateful he never skipped a day of working out since he left the military. 

“Come on Derek, wake up,” Stiles demanded loudly, forcing Derek to concentrate on his voice instead of the looming evil above them. “Wake up, you have to work now,” Stiles said roughly, thankful when Derek stood on his own, clinging to Stiles shoulders. 

“Protect life.” Derek’s voice was small, weak and full of despair. “Until death.” 

There was no love in his voice, none in his eyes. Derek was a soldier. He didn’t love because he was alive, he had to have a reason to love. The truth had been piecing itself together in the back of Stiles’ mind, but he didn’t know, he wasn’t sure if he was good enough. Even daring to think someone else’s love for him was enough to save the the whole universe was the most absurd shit he had ever heard in his life. But there he was, staring it in the face. He had to come through, but he didn’t know if he could even get Derek to look at him. 

Love was not something Stiles knew how to weaponize. He couldn’t fake it, and he couldn’t force it. He had no idea how to make it work, but he had to try. 

“Derek, listen to me, listen,” Stiles demanded. “I know, I know you’re very tired and I’ll take you on vacation when we’re done with this, I swear. A real vacation--” Stiles moved his hand from Derek’s shoulders, holding him tight around the waist with one arm so he could hold Derek’s face and look at him as he spoke. “A real vacation, just you and me, somewhere really nice,” he promised, and he meant it. That had to mean something. 

Derek grabbed his shoulders tighter, but struggled to get away from his hand. He looked away from Stiles, his eyes fixed on the ceiling again like he could see whatever was looming above them threatening to snuff them all out once it crashed into them. 

“Listen, you gotta do something, right now, or we’re all gonna die,” Stiles reminded him more harshly than he intended. 

Fear surged in his chest again. He didn’t want to die, not when he just found Derek, not when they were connected so completely, and so obviously meant for each other. This was the moment, the one he heard about so many times before, the one he didn't think he was even capable of. That moment when everything you ever regretted not doing, everything you were going to miss about life, flashed through your mind and Derek was somehow at the center of all of it. Stiles didn’t even know him, and his heart was breaking for how bad he already missed him.


	30. One Perfect Moment

Words meant nothing, not in the face of so much pain, but Stiles kept dragging him back from the edge of misery and desperation with words that somehow meant more than they should.

Derek knew what a vacation was, but he didn’t understand why Stiles said it. He only understood the words were so profound and meaningful to Stiles, they were difficult for him to say. It forced Derek to ask himself why, but the evil that had engulfed him didn’t want to give up it’s hold on him so easily. It spoke louder than Stiles, it didn’t need words. It threw the pictures of violence and war, the half truths and rationalizations that lead to so much suffering Derek couldn’t fathom fighting for the existence of anything that had the ability to inflict so much pain. 

Life meant nothing to them, but Stiles was one of them, and life meant everything to him. Derek’s life especially. The two truths didn’t reconcile. Stiles fought for life alongside Derek, with just as much loyalty and perseverance even though he wasn’t created for it like Derek was. Stiles chose it. He ran toward danger when he could have just as easily ran away like so many others, but Derek wasn't sure why. He had to know why, but he didn’t know how to ask for himself, when he wasn’t fighting for himself, he was fighting for everyone else. 

“What’s the use of saving life when I see what you do with it?” Derek asked, unwilling to look at Stiles for fear of what might not be there in Stiles’ eyes. Derek knew what a lie was, he couldn’t let his own desperation fool him. 

“Derek, you’re right, you’re right,” Stiles pleaded with him, pulling him closer. Stiles pressed his face against Derek’s cheek and the warmth coursed through him like fire burning under his skin. “There are things worth saving,” Stiles whispered against his ear. The soft brush of warm air made the sensitive flesh tingle like there was more power in his words if they were only meant for Derek. He wrapped both arms around Derek and held him tight, his gritty, rough hands clung to Derek’s back, reminding him how strong Stiles was, holding him up all on his own. “There are some very beautiful things worth saving, Derek,” Stiles promised. “There are so many beautiful things.” 

Hopeless, afraid, Derek grabbed at the fading memories of his former lives, the shadows and echoes of truths he wished he could remember before he was snuffed out forever. “Like love?” Derek asked, drawing in a ragged breath as the despair that shrouded his mind gave way to a burning desire to cling to Stiles. If he only had moments, he wanted someone to share them with, someone who looked at him the way Stiles looked at him. 

“Yes, like love,” Stiles agreed. “Love is a good example.” His hands moved frantically over Derek’s back, clutching his shoulders desperately. “Love, yes. Love is worth saving,” Stiles insisted, putting just enough space between them to see Derek’s face. His eyes were glassy, pleading with Derek to look back at him the same way.

This time Derek didn’t look away. It was the end, and he was all alone, so he searched Stiles’ eyes for something, anything that might be meant just for him. Not for the world, or life, or humanity, but for Derek and Derek alone. Stiles hovered so close to him Derek could feel the heat of his breath on his cheek. He wanted to press his lips to that heat, and feel it before he was gone, but he had never asked permission. Stiles had never given it. 

“I don't know love. I was built to protect, not to love,” Derek reminded him. That was it, the truth he needed. He was meant to sacrifice himself this time. Maybe it was the last time. Maybe if he sacrificed himself the cycle would end and everyone would be safe, forever. “There is no use for me, other than this.” He let go, ready to give himself to the power crackling in the air around him. 

Stiles pulled him back, held him up, demanded his attention. “No, you’re wrong,” Stiles insisted. “You’re wrong, you’re so wrong.” Stiles repeated forcefully. Derek met his eyes again, willing to hear the rest of the words that hung on his lips because there were for him, even if it was anger, it was his. Stiles and his words were all Derek had left in this life. “I need you, I need you very much,” Stiles confessed. 

It was almost the truth. Another convenient set of words built to tell the part of the truth they were comfortable with. They hung in the air like bait, goading Derek, pressing at his mind as Stiles struggled to say more. “Why?” Derek asked, unwilling to accept only half of the truth. Life could not survive on half truths. 

“Because,” Stiles hissed, frustrated and desperate, he pulled Derek back up on his feet squarely and hugged him close. Stiles pressed his nose against the side of Derek’s face again, not quite kissing his skin, but wanting to so desperately. “Because,” Stiles repeated, pushing Derek, threatening to break his heart in their last moments because he was afraid of the truth. 

“Tell me why you need me?” Derek asked again. The sting of fear gave way to hope as Stiles held him so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. “Tell me.” 

“Because I love you,” Stiles confessed in a whisper because it was only for them. His lips pressed to Derek’s cheek, then moved to his mouth, leaving a trail of tingling warmth on Derek’s skin. “I love you,” Stiles repeated before he kissed Derek. 

Sweet, forgiving warmth welled up in Derek’s chest as Stiles pressed open his lips and devoured what was left of the fear and despair. His lips burned a promise of love more meaningful than words. It was primal, tangible, and more powerful than the sway of the entity darkening the sky above them. It lost it’s hold on Derek entirely as Stiles gave himself to Derek. 

The energy in the air around them snapped and popped like a brewing storm. He knew it was coming to take him over, but he didn’t want to let Stiles go. He stood on his own and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ neck possessively. He wasn't sure if he was going to live, and if he didn't make it he wanted his last moment to be one perfect moment with Stiles. He kissed Stiles back and hoped they would make it out alive, together.


	31. Short But Sweet

Derek was the most amazing kisser. Stiles was going to miss it, if there was an afterlife. If there was a heaven, he might be dead already, but who was he kidding? Heaven would never take a guy like him. Stiles was about to laugh a little, kiss Derek again and tell him he loved him one last time before they died, but light burst around the both of them, shocking Stiles back to reality. Derek gasped and Stiles braced himself, holding onto Derek as tight as he could when the accumulated energy from the stones threw Derek back and burst out of him. 

Nothing could prepare a person for holding onto a nuclear blast. The air around him snapped and rumbled with energy, Derek was like a vibrating piece of glass threatening to break apart, and Stiles was the only thing holding him together. He had to close his eyes and turn his face away to keep his mind in one piece, but he was sure he was going to be blind and deaf from all the light and noise anyways. The power of the energy cascade threatened to tear Derek out of his arms, but Stiles held on, pulled back against it and refused to let go. 

When it suddenly ended as abruptly as it started, Stiles stumbled, catching them both before he dropped Derek. Somehow, through the sparks in his eyes and the ringing in his ears, Stiles held on, kept them both upright until Ruby and Jordan were there to help them both down to the ground. They asked questions, pressing Stiles for answers he didn’t have as he checked to make sure Derek was still alive. He pressed his fingertips to Derek’s neck looking for a pulse. He was alive. He was breathing, it was enough, for now. 

They weren’t dead. The weapon had done something, so it must have worked. Stiles wasn't sure the price they were going to pay as he tried to see past the shadows burned into his vision. He remembered when he was a kid and his dad told him he would go blind if he looked directly at the sun, so Stiles had to try. He spent the next few hours hiding in his room as the sun spots faded. He hadn’t been scared back then either, just worried how he was going to explain it to his dad. He rubbed at his eyes, then reached out for Derek, grabbing his hand as the other three bustled around them making plans. 

They were done, they could let the others take care of the rest.


	32. Oahu Or Bust

“You did it,” Jordan celebrated, whispering in her ear. He kissed her on the lips excitedly. “I can't believe you did it! I can't believe we’re alive!” he laughed. 

“Neither can I,” Lydia admitted. Jordan had faith in her, and in god. They had witnessed a miracle. The threat and defeat of evil. They had so much new work ahead of them. When people found out the church would surge in numbers again, and Lydia would be in charge of all of them. “I can’t believe what’s coming next,” she said as the possibilities overwhelmed her. 

“No, don't think about it yet. Just enjoy the victory,” Jordan insisted. 

“But I’m the highest order in our ranks, and there’s only a dozen of us around the entire world,” Lydia reminded him. 

“You’re going to be famous, like father Bartholomew and the Mondoshawans,” Jordan gushed. “Father Lydia of New York.” 

“Father Martin Cornelius,” Lydia corrected. 

“I want them to know you’re a woman,” Jordan insisted. “The first woman, after the order almost died out because of all that gender controversy? Oh, shit! This is going to be epic,” he laughed. 

“I have a question,” Ruby said, turning in the seat of the luxury jet the president had sent for them, like she had been invited to the conversation. “You guys are married, right? Do you call her Father in bed? Cause that shit is kinda kinky,” Ruby cackled. 

“Are you kidding me?” Jordan snapped. “You’re talking to the--” 

“Jordan, please,” Lydia laughed. “No he doesn't call me Father in bed, but I wouldn't mind if he did.” Lydia said curtly. “I fought my way into the priesthood because I believed. I was not only the youngest woman to carry the title, but the only married one in history.”

“I thought priests were celibate?” Ruby asked. 

“Not for years, but they aren't supposed to get married. That’s a promise you’re supposed to save for god,” Lydia informed her. 

“How’d you do it?” Ruby asked, suddenly more interesting in knowing the truth than mocking her beliefs. 

“I argued God was the third partner in our marriage. Since multiple person marriages have been recognized by the church for thousands of years, they eventually agreed,” Lydia grinned. 

“That’s some ballsy shit right there. I think I like you,” Ruby laughed. “Can I call you Dad? Is that irreverent?” 

“Yes, it’s irreverent,” Stiles complained as he closed the door behind him where he and Derek had been sleeping. “Everyone and their dog is gonna want an interview with Father Lydia, so you better be extra nice to her,” he pointed out. 

“Oh, hey,” Ruby grinned. “They’re gonna let me do whatever I want. I could get us all out to the real Hawaii, Oahu, the actual island I bet,” she offered. Stiles stopped and looked at Lydia like he thought that was a great idea. “If I could get a couple hours of exclusives a day from everyone for a week or two, the rest of the time we can bask on the beach and play in the ocean like locals?” Ruby suggested. 

“Yes, do that,” Stiles said emphatically. “All of us. The Samoan Army is our best bet at privacy.” Stiles sounded relived. 

“What about you, my man?” Ruby asked, swatting at him as he passed her and headed for the cockpit. “You gonna say more than one word?” 

“Ruby--Braeden, my love, I will do anything for you for the rest of our lives if you get us two weeks on Oahu,” Stiles promised. “Very, very soon,” he added as he ducked through the cockpit doors, “like, tomorrow,” his voice insisted loudly as he closed the doors. 

“Bless his heart. He used my real name,” Ruby sighed. “I might be in love.” 

“You are way too gay to be in love with that,” Lydia argued. 

“Too true,” Ruby laughed, throwing herself back in her seat and reaching for her drink. 

The rest of the trip was spent drowning the sense of impending doom in good scotch and bad jokes. Lydia got up and checked on Derek, concerned about the bruises that were forming around his torso before they left. The medic said his scan was clear of life threatening injuries, but he still hadn't woken up. She settled in next to him and pulled the thin blanket up around his shoulders. 

“I wish you would wake up and tell me you’re okay,” Lydia sighed quietly. Like answering a prayer, Derek’s eyes fluttered and opened. They darted around the room, landing on her with unasked questions. “I didn’t--sorry--I, um. You’re okay, we’re alive,” Lydia assured him, stammering her way through her surprise. “Everyone is alive. It worked, Stiles loves you.” Lydia blurted it all out, flinching when Derek tensed, and shot up in bed when she got to the last part. His eyes were sleepy and bloodshot, but he looked okay considering he’d just been used as a giant pulse weapon, as Stiles described it. 

“That wasn't a dream?” Derek asked. 

“Oh, no,” Lydia laughed softly. She reached out to run a hand over his cheek soothingly. “No, that was real, and it was all you.” 

“What do I do now?” Derek asked, rubbing his eyes like he was still half asleep. 

“You get to live,” Lydia said, excited for him. “Enjoy the life you saved. Go on vacation with us, read all the books. Maybe write some if you want to save me from the responsibility,” she laughed. “Love Stiles desperately. Go on fantastical adventures, have mind blowing sex as often as possible. Just to start.” 

“Vacations, books and sex?” Derek asked, looking a little bewildered. 

“Believe me, in the end that's the boring stuff. But if you can do that well, you’ll be living a good life,” Lydia assured him. 

“I’m starving.” Derek threw himself back on the mattress like he was giving up on the idea of figuring it all out right now. 

“What do you want?” Stiles asked abruptly over the intercom. 

“You were listening?” Lydia shouted at the com screen as it flickered to life. Stiles’ face was too close, probably pressed against his side to see Derek better. “Forget it, of course you were,” Lydia rolled her eyes. Stiles would never leave Derek alone without an open com channel to keep an eye on him. “He wants chicken,” Lydia informed him. 

“With vegetables,” Derek added, sitting up and leaning toward the screen. 

“You better bring a couple, just in case. And something for yourself if you’re hungry. Derek doesn't share,” Lydia snickered. 

“Understood,” Stiles answered before the screen went dead. 

“He loves me,” Derek said bluntly, like he was assessing the idea. 

“Do you love him?” Lydia asked. 

“I think so,” Derek’s eyes stayed fixed on the screen like he might be able to bring Stiles back if he stared hard enough. “I was going to sacrifice myself. I thought that’s what I needed to do, but I didn’t. I listened to him instead,” Derek confessed. “I stayed for him because I wanted it more than anything else.” 

“That’s love,” Lydia assured him. “That's how I feel about Jordan, and God.” 

“God?” Derek asked like he was unsure what that was. 

“What you are when you’re not here with us,” Lydia explained. 

“I don't remember that, but I know I was something before this. I wasn’t born.” Derek shook his head and scowled like he was searching his mind. “And I know I lived before this, but I don’t remember any of that either.” 

“You sound different too. Your accent is almost gone. I think that means you’re meant to stay here and live this life with us.” Lydia hoped Derek liked the idea. She also hoped he forgot everything else so he could enjoy this life without the burden of knowing something greater. 

“I think you’re right,” Derek agreed with a soft smile. “I feel smaller, and I hurt,” he said with a sudden pained expression. He sat back, leaning against the wall and lifted his shirt. He ran a hand over the bruises on his chest and stomach. “I’m not healing like I used to.” 

“I noticed that,” Lydia agreed. “You might be human, but that’s not a bad thing. If you were still the fifth element the government might try to make you a walking experiment.” 

Derek cringed. “Those guys were really stupid,” he said with a sigh. “Small price to pay.” 

“You really sound like Stiles,” Lydia giggled. 

The door slid open and Stiles came in with an officer behind him. The officer had a huge tray of food, and he was armed with enthusiastic smiles and kind words for Derek. Lydia ducked out and left them alone, dragging the smitten officer along with her. She thanked him and sent him on his way, even though he looked genuinely disappointed he didn't get to spend more time with The Fifth Element. Jordan and Ruby both gave her knowing glances. The officer’s dazzled, needy expression as he glanced back at the closed door was only a preview of what was to come, but they had each other’s backs. Together, they were prepared.


	33. The Consolation Prize

“You want him to get inside that thing again?” Stiles asked, demanding clarification. 

“Son, I promise we’ll let him out the moment he’s healed,” his dad promised. 

Stiles eyed his dad, his tiny meathead counterpart, and all the squinty scientists gathered around them with deep suspicion. The only reason he even agreed to meet with them was because they promised they could help Derek, but Derek was staring at the tube thingy like he was terrified. 

“Can I go in with him?” Stiles asked. 

“Son, you--” 

“Yes!” the squintiest squint piped up enthusiastically. “It’s perfectly safe, and it will work faster if you’re more comfortable. Anxiety breaks down the cells at an alarming rate, if you--” 

“Yes, Stiles, he says yes,” his dad, General Stilinski, clarified helpfully. “The President will be here in a half an hour, just get in.” 

Unsure exactly how to get in to such a thing, Stiles shrugged off his jacket and grabbed the side, but the head squint cleared his throat and motioned to Stiles’ clothes. They had to be naked, of course. 

“Turn around, all of you,” Stiles said with a threatening glare. All the wide eyes around them were waiting like they were some kind of burlesque side show. When all he could see were the backs of heads, and his dad checking the crowd with sharp eyes to make sure no one peeked, Stiles helped Derek peel off what was left of his clothes. “I know you liked these,” Stiles said as Derek stepped out of the pants gingerly. “We’ll find you a new pair," he promised.

“You think so?” Derek asked hopefully. He was so tired he looked like he was half delirious. “I like this more,” he said as he pushed his arm out of the suspenders and crossed it over the bruises on his chest protectively. There was a terrible purple shadow creeping to the surface of his skin all along his neck as well. Stiles cringed looking at it. 

“Um, sir?” a small female voice said from somewhere near the back of the crowd. “We have nanotechnology downstairs that can refabricate any textile or rubber based clothing.” 

“You do that, and someone get him a makeup box with the thick lines and the pinkish sorta--”

“Chanel Fifteen,” the same voice piped up. “I have one in my purse.” 

“You come here then,” Stiles demanded. A tiny dark haired woman pushed her way through the crowd. She was all smiles and she kept her eyes up. “Take these,” Stiles pointed to all of Derek’s clothes. “No one else, and as long as we’re here if he’s not with me, he’s with you." 

“Yes, sir,” the woman nodded, her wide eyes already endearingly loyal. 

“What’s your name?” Stiles asked. 

“Cora Hale,” she smiled. 

“Good, Cora,” Stiles nodded. “This is Derek. You can shake his hand later, but for now you take care of him like he’s your brother.” 

After running a hand over his face, Stiles sat down on the edge of the tube thing while Cora explained to Derek exactly what he was doing and what it was for. Stiles pushed his shoes off, the exhaustion creeping into every part of him. He was miserable and cranky, but Cora was kind and succinct. She also kept a sharp eye on the restless crowd, which made him happy. Once Derek was situated and comfortable, Stiles climbed in next to him. Cora took the initiative to close the tube, and raise the privacy filter high enough no one could see them but her. She explained herself easily, and told them exactly what she was doing every step of the way. 

“You’ll be here when we wake up?” Derek asked. His voice was strained and he looked worried, but when Cora smiled down at him, he smiled back. 

“I’ll try my best, but you have to get a good nap in, okay?” she answered sweetly. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said. He felt better when the privacy filter closed and it was just he and Derek. Maybe it was a little fast to be naked in something that resembled a bed together, but they just saved the world. All Stiles cared about was sleeping. “Go to sleep first,” Stiles said as he wrapped his arm around Derek carefully. “I promise I’ll wake up if anything happens.” 

A moment later Derek’s hand went slack against his arm and he drew in a long, slow breath. As soon as Stiles was sure he was asleep, he closed his own eyes. The burning gritty feeling faded quickly and the world went dark. It felt like hours had passed when he opened his eyes, but the clock overhead said it was only five minutes. The head scientist wasn’t kidding when he said five minutes would make him as good as new. He checked his arm, surprised to see the graze was pink and healing. Derek’s back was still bruised, but it started fading fast as soon as Stiles gave him room. He fell back and pushed Derek over, letting him spread out on his front so the eerie blue light could do it’s job. 

“Do you feel better?” Derek asked. Stiles didn't know he was awake. 

“Yeah, much. You?” 

“I feel human. I don't know what better is,” Derek admitted. He turned his face toward Stiles and looked him over, smiling when their eyes met again. 

“I think I’m your consolation prize,” Stiles grinned. “If you are who Lydia says you are, you’ve got a shitty sense of humor.” 

“Can I kiss you?” Derek asked as he lifted himself up on his elbows. 

“Yes, as often as you like,” Stiles said. “The rest of it’s yours too, as long as you want me.” He made a promise like that to someone before, but she didn't look at him the way Derek did. She thought he was funny, but Derek wasn’t even smiling. 

“I have a great sense of humor,” Derek stated. He moved closer to Stiles, obviously not interested in laughing at all. Derek pressed his lips softly against Stiles’, like he was testing something out. “I didn’t think it would feel the same,” he almost whispered. Derek kissed him again, pushing him back against the warm glass. Stiles tried to keep up, but Derek kissed him so slow and lovingly it left him breathless. His hands were shaking and his lungs were fighting for air when Derek finally released him. “That was better,” Derek said with a wicked smile. 

“I don't know how you can top and end of the world kiss, but you just did it,” Stiles agreed. “I think, maybe,” he said as he pushed Derek’s hand toward his own erection, “you want to know how the rest of it works?” 

Derek nodded, leaning in to kiss him again. He was merciful this time, and more exploratory with his lips, testing them against Stiles’ neck and cheeks as they slowly tangled themselves up together. 

“Can I?” Stiles asked before he started using his hands in earnest. 

“Yes,” Derek smiled. 

“I can’t count the times I wanted to touch you,” Stiles admitted. He shifted Derek on top of him, surprised when he spread himself out over Stiles like he knew exactly what he was doing. Derek slid his hands up Stiles’ chest, over his shoulders and up the sides of his neck before he leaned in to kiss him. It took him a moment to realize he could touch Derek back. His hands went to Derek’s tight waist, his fingers sliding over the muscular contour of his hips. He spread his hands out and pulled Derek’s hips down tight against his own. Derek drew in a sharp breath against his lips and Stiles smiled. “Don’t know everything, do you?” Stiles teased. 

“Not that,” Derek admitted as he flexed against Stiles, testing the sensation. 

“You just wait til I get my hands on your dick tomorrow morning,” Stiles promised. “You’ll never want to wake up with anyone else ever again.” 

“What if I wake up first?” Derek asked. 

“You better pay attention then,” Stiles grinned. 

The feeling of Derek’s heavy, warm body holding him down was better than he let himself imagine. Wanting wasn’t real when they were running and fighting for their lives. It was a carrot on a stick, motivating him forward. Stiles knew as well as any other soldier you didn’t always like what you came home to, but Stiles would do it all over again just to feel Derek moving rhythmically against him. The way he kissed Stiles, like he was perfect and exactly what Derek wanted, was enough to risk anything for. But he knew that the moment they met. 

Noise outside the reactor should have alarmed Stiles, but Derek’s hands framed his face demanding his undivided attention. The president’s booming voice was loud enough to reach all the way inside. 

“The president is here,” Stiles warned. Derek kept grinding against him slow and perfect, like the outside world wasn’t a concern. The window above them slid open and shut again abruptly. Stiles pressed the com button above their heads. “Let’s see how much time we have,” Stiles said breathlessly before he kissed Derek again. 

“You have twenty seconds,” the president warned. Stiles froze and so did Derek, but the faint sound of his father’s voice confused him. It sounded like he was arguing with someone. “Who is that?” President Boyd asked. 

“My--Stiles’ mother,” his dad stammered. 

“His mother? Give it here!” President Boyd exclaimed. Stiles laughed softly, unwilling to be distracted from Derek for long. “Hello ma’am, this is the president. On behalf of the federation I would like to thank you for your contribution to our victory. You raised an excellent son,” President Boyd boomed. 

“Good god, I hope my dad saves him from himself,” Stiles snickered. 

“Yes, ma’am, you have a beautiful voice as well,” President Boyd laughed bashfully. “Erica is a beautiful name.” 

“Stiles,” Derek moaned. He reached up and turned off the com button, giving silent thanks for Erica. For once in his life her relentlessness was doing him a favor. She would probably be on a date with the president before the end of the day. “Do that thing to my neck again,” Derek asked, whispering so no one outside got any great ideas. 

Stiles dragged his teeth softly over the sensitive skin of Derek’s neck, then kissed the hollow of his throat as Derek rocked his hips more urgently. “Harder,” Derek asked. Stiles gripped his hips with both hands and thrust against him, waiting for the needful moan that followed. Derek tensed as he climaxed, his body whole body clinging to Stiles beautifully. Feeling him come, and listening to the unrestrained sounds Derek made, drove Stiles over the edge. 

Exhausted again, in a good way, Stiles relaxed into the dense pad he was laying on. His back was warm and wet with sweat, but Derek’s weight felt too good to worry about small discomforts. Derek dragged himself up a little, the deep, pleased sound he let out made Stiles smile. He was grinding against Stiles against Stiles again quickly, impressed by how much better it felt when they were both slick and wet. He kissed Derek softly, his lips lingering as Derek smiled down at him. He was the greatest thing that ever happened to Stiles, probably the greatest thing that ever would. 

“I love you,” Stiles said quietly, hoping whoever looked inside would keep their secret a little longer. 

“You’re sure?” Derek asked, but he knew the answer already. His smile proved that. 

“I’m sure everything I ever did, all the things I thought were wasted time and a wasted life, in the end, brought me to you.”

“You’re perfect,” Derek whispered.

“I’m perfect for you,” Stiles teased, grabbing at Derek’s ass playfully. Derek groaned and rocked against him again, already ready for more. “I’ve created a monster,” Stiles whispered. 

“You make that sound like a compliment,” Derek grinned. 

“It is.”


End file.
